


Headspace

by madders



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madders/pseuds/madders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU where the events of Devil's Trap never happened, Sam has been out of hunting- and Dean's life for a few years now. Until a late night call drags him right back in again. Can he ever make it right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Sam Winchester walked through the quad, carrying an armful of books. He dodged students nimbly, while still managing not to drop any of the precarious pile he was holding. He nodded absently to a few faces he recognized, but didn’t stop to talk to any of them, heading instead with determination for the solace of the library.

As he entered the cool building, out of the sun’s harsh glare he sighed, his posture relaxing slightly as he moved further inside, the surroundings giving him a measure of peace from the hustle and bustle of the main college itself.

He smiled at the librarian behind the desk as he set the pile of books down in front of her.

“Afternoon Sam,” she greeted him.

“Afternoon Andrea,” he replied, digging around in his pocket for his cell phone, which he switched off as per the library’s strict rules. “I’m dropping these off for Professor Kennedy. He’s asked me if you could renew the top two, but the rest can go back. I’ve got some research of my own to do, so if it’s alright with you I’ll pick them up on my way back out.”

“No problem hon.” Andrea smiled and nodded, setting the two requested books down separate from the rest. “You sure you don’t want to wait for them?” she flashed him a flirtatious smile.

“Sorry. I’ve got a lot to get through this afternoon,” he answered, already turning away from the desk. He heard her sigh in disappointment as he left, but paid no attention as he disappeared into the stacks, his mind already recounting which texts he needed to find.

It was almost closing time by the time he had finished his research, and he carefully put away his study materials and returned to the front desk. He saw Andrea smile and straighten up as he approached.

“Finished for the evening hon?” she asked, handing over the two books.

“Yeah, for now,” Sam replied. “I’m just going to drop these off and then I’m going home.”

“Why don’t you come out with me tonight?” she asked with a hopeful grin. “There’s this new restaurant that is supposed to be wonderful, and not too expensive either.”

“I’m sorry Andrea,” he apologized. “I’m really not up for that.”

Her smile slipped, and he knew that she wouldn’t be asking him again. “No problem Sam,” she responded. “It was just a thought.”

Sam didn’t bother hanging around any longer than it took to say goodbye, and then he was back out into the dimming sunlight, retracing his steps back to the department. He dropped the books back to Professor Kennedy’s secretary with a smile, and then headed for home.

He got in half an hour later, dropping his books and bag on the table before heading to the fridge and grabbing a beer. He looked disdainfully at the containers in the fridge and contemplated ordering in before settling on reheating the pizza from the night before. He turned the television on, the 24 hour news channel flickering to life, but he paid it no real attention as he kicked his shoes off and headed for the bedroom.

The bedroom was as bare as the rest of his apartment, no personal touches, only a lamp, alarm clock and extension for his phone. He dropped his watch on the table beside it and changed into sweats and an old, ragged t-shirt before going back to his pizza. He ate in silence, only half watching the news before he caught himself dozing off to the droning voices.

With a sigh he dragged himself up and forced himself to shower before dropping into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

:::

Sam sighed softly as the feelings of warmth and protection; of heat and safety; the smell that said home surrounded him and covered him like a blanket. Idly he thought that it had been a long time since he’d felt like that, and he frowned a little, trying to remember when that was. A soft murmur in his ear settled him down, and he sunk gratefully into the embrace, letting it cocoon him, take away the pain. A ringing sound broke into the peace, and he frowned as he willed it to stop, even as the warm feelings slid away.

:::

The sound of the phone ringing broke the silence of the darkened apartment. A muffled groan from the bed was followed by a hand groping on the bedside table for the phone, bleary eyes trying to focus enough to read the red numbers on the alarm clock. 5:42 stared back at him. Finally his hand touched plastic and he pulled the phone to his ear, rolling over onto his back and sitting up in the bed.

“’lo,” he spoke groggily, his tone sharp with annoyance with a hint of fear behind it. No one called him, especially not at 5:42 in the morning.

“Sam Winchester?” a hazily familiar female voice asked on the other end of the line. His brow wrinkled as he tried to place the voice.

“Who is this?” he asked, suspicious.

“You know who I am boy,” she replied cryptically.

And suddenly the memory fell into place.

“Missouri,” he breathed, her name bringing up a million more memories he’d long tried to bury along with a million more questions.

“See, wasn’t all that hard now was it Sam,” she replied with a trace of humor.

“What are you doing calling me?” he asked, confused, before a better question pushed itself to the forefront. “Better yet, how the hell did you know how to reach me?” he asked.

Missouri snorted down the phone line in disgust, before going silent once more.

“Missouri? What is it?” he asked, the silence scaring him more and more.

“You need to come here,” she told him, her voice holding no argument.

“What? Why?” he asked, confused. “Dean?” He gasped, sudden panic floating through him.

“You mean you don’t know?” she replied, her voice puzzled.

“Know what? Damnnit Missouri, what’s wrong?” he asked, getting more frantic with worry.

“Sam, you get yourself here right now,” she commanded, sounding scared and angry all at the same time. “I know your brother said you had cut yourself off and shut down, but damn.”

“You’ve spoken to Dean? When? How?” he fired off, getting angry himself.

“Sam I don’t have time for this, and neither does your brother. Get your butt here and I’ll explain, but we don’t have the time to waste.”

“Missouri…” he growled, hating the way she was expecting him to just drop everything and run without any explanation.

“Samuel Winchester you just listen to me. If you don’t get here soon, you might as well have put a shotgun to your brother’s chest and pulled the trigger,” she yelled at him, sending memories of the Roosevelt Asylum racing through him. “And not one loaded with rock salt,” she added, making him gasp and pull the phone from his ear.

“Sam, please,” her voice dropped, so he could barely hear her from where he held the phone. “If you still care about him at all, you need to come here.”

Sam closed his eyes tightly, feeling the burning of repressed tears.

Keeping his eyes closed he raised the phone back up to his mouth and spoke.

“I’ll be there in a few hours.”


	2. Part One

Nine hours later and Sam found himself outside Missouri’s house in Lawrence. The house hadn't changed at all since the last time him and Dean... Sam sighed and closed his eyes, wondering for the hundredth time that day what he was letting himself in for, and how the hell he'd allowed himself to be dragged back into it, after all this time. Taking a deep breath he walked up the short space to her door like a man walking to his doom.

He had barely got onto the porch before Missouri had opened the door and ushered him in. She motioned for him to go into the back room. He preceded her in, half expecting Dean to be sitting on the old ratty sofa waiting for him, and he wasn’t sure if he was happy or disappointed when he was not. Missouri followed him in and stopped when he turned around, pinning her with a glare.

"What's going on Missouri?" he questioned, his voice hard, foregoing the pleasantries. "Why bring me here now? And where's Dean?"

Missouri sighed as she looked at Sam, closing her eyes for a moment before focusing back on the man in front of her.

"Dean’s on a hunting trip... and he hasn’t been home in a few days," she told him, making him shudder at the eerily similar words to that night so long ago.

"So?" he snapped back, turning away and trying to ignore the screaming in his head. "Why should I care?" he asked. “He made it clear enough he didn’t want anything to do with me before.” He clenched his eyes shut, drowning in the memories that resurfaced.

Missouri opened her mouth to say something but Sam didn’t let her even start.

"He left me there, in the fucking hospital, just disappeared without a word,” he spun around to face her, his torment visible on his face. “He didn’t even stay long enough to bury Dad.” Sam closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face and into his hair. “So tell me why I should even bother to listen to you.”

Missouri closed her own eyes and wondered what she had ever done to deserve the Winchester’s crashing into her life. All three of them were just so damn infuriating.

“What were you going to do?” she asked softly. “What did you have planned for when it was all over for you, when the demon that killed your mother and your girlfriend was dead?” she continued. Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Missouri raised a hand and continued herself instead. “You were going to go back to College and forget all about the things that go bump in the night weren’t you?” she told him, her tone telling him that it was a rhetorical question.

“And guess what. Your brother made sure you got that life. He let you go.”

“He walked out on me,” Sam countered.

“Only because he knew he wouldn’t survive if you walked out on him first.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open, unable to answer that.

“That boy loved you so much that he knew he had to let you go. Hell, you told him so yourself often enough. Even though it nearly killed him, he knew that you’d never stay with him, not like he needed, because you were too hung up on being ‘normal,’” She spat the word like it was poison.

“His whole life he's given up everything for you; his hopes, his dreams, his happiness; to make sure that you got what you wanted, never mind his own needs."

"He gave everything away for you until there was barely anything of him left," she told him, her voice pained.

"The Dean Winchester that’s been walking around since is a hollowed out shell of the man he once was, because he has no-one and nobody to care about him, ‘cept me, and hell, more’n half the time we can’t stand each other.

“Sometimes he calls me and I swear that his voice is rusty because he hasn’t used it for days, and the only reason he’s calling is that the loneliness has gotten so bad that he can’t stand it.

“He hunts, he kills and he moves on, and how the hell he ain’t dead yet is a mystery to me.” She stopped and took a deep breath, leveling her gaze on Sam and seeing that dawning shock and horror on his face as realization set in.

“You see Sam, no matter what else I think of him, the one thing even I can’t deny is that your brother has always put you first. No matter what the cost to himself. Ever since he carried you out of that house he’s been doing it, and as long as he draws breath he will never stop.

“Funny thing about it is that’s the one thing you’re best at too. What you need, what you want. And maybe it’s Dean’s fault for always giving in to you, and maybe it’s your daddy’s for making Dean grow up too damn fast and putting him in charge of you, but damnit boy you’re not a child anymore, so for once in your life would you stop and put someone else first. Because that brother of yours deserves to have something good in his life, and he deserves better than the fate he’s got now.”

“What do you know?” Sam asked after a few minutes, her words cutting him to the core.

“There was a job out East that he went to look into,” she replied. “And he should’ve been fine. But he’s getting more ‘n more reckless, like he don’t care if he makes it out or not,” she pinned Sam with her glare again. “Like he doesn’t have anything to hold him here anymore.”

She crossed the room to her coffee table, shifting a few books and papers to pull out a newspaper clipping, handing it over to Sam.

Sam skimmed the short news article, about a man who seemed to have vanished without a trace, leaving the authorities baffled. He looked up at Missouri in confusion.

“Was a day or two before anyone knew this fella was missing, a friend broke in when he got worried that he’d not heard from him for a spell. Didn’t find him, or any signs of a struggle, nothing had been taken. Police spoke to the neighbors, who said that they hadn’t seen him in a while either. His car turned up out by the edge of the town, so they went down and searched the area, but there was nothing.”

“And Dean found this suspicious? How does he know this guy didn’t just skip town?” he asked.

“He wasn’t the first to vanish.” Missouri replied, sitting down in her chair. “There’s been three other cases, spread out over a few weeks before. Four men, in the same small town, vanishing into thin air with no trace? All the signs pointed to there being something strange going on out there.”

“Did Dean know what it was he was hunting?” Sam asked.

“He told me he had a pretty good idea the last time we spoke, but he didn’t tell me what. He said he was going to check something out first. I waited for him to call me back, but there’s been nothing. And he's not answering his cell.”

“How long since you last heard from him?” Sam asked, opening his bag and pulling out his laptop, quickly booting it up and calling up flight information.

“Nearly five days,” she replied.

Sam cursed and pulled out his wallet, typing his credit card details into the website.

“You think you can give me a lift to the airport?” he asked.

For the first time since he got there, Missouri smiled. “I think that can be arranged.”

**************

Sam sat on the plane, willing it to travel faster, to hurry up and get him to his brother. He stared out of the tiny window, lost in thought. It'd been almost two years since he'd last spoken to him, right before the last showdown between the three of them and the demon, the fight that only Dean and Sam had walked out of alive, Sam only just barely.

Dean had managed to pull him out as the building had collapsed around them in a flaming pile of rubble. Sam's memories of that night were fragmented; some parts fuzzy, as if watching from afar, others in sharp relief, as clear as if they had just happened yesterday.

What bothered him more though was the complete blanks in his mind, gaps that he had never been able to fill, and had no-one there who had been there to fill them.

He didn't remember how their father had died, only seeing his body, and both he and Dean had injuries he didn't remember them getting.

What was worse was that there were entire days after the fight that he didn't remember either.

He had vague memories of Dean's voice in the hospital, the sensation of being touched and comforted, but other than that there was nothing. By the time he was fully conscious Dean was gone and Sam was left with his duffle and few hundred dollars- all the money Dean had left, and the details of when and where their dad was to be buried.

Sam sighed. He had been so angry that he hadn't even tried to call his brother, and even when his anger had cooled, he still hadn't wanted to deal with Dean. Later still, he had begun to miss his brother something fierce, but had never broken down and tried to contact him, holding onto the knowledge that Dean had left _him_ this time.

He'd never stopped, never questioned why Dean had done what he did, too busy thinking about what it meant for him to consider what it was doing to his brother. Missouri was right, he was selfish, it’d been too easy for him to cut all his ties and finally close that chapter of his life, and then he had been too scared to go back and face rejection. He shut his eyes and tried to stop the tears that were waiting to fall.

Eventually he drifted off into a restless sleep, tracks of tears marking his torment.

:::

He fell into warmth and safety once more, strong arms holding him in the darkness that for once held no fear for him.

He sighed softly, a tender smile on his face as the arms tightened in response to his movements. Sam smiled a little wider and shifted backwards into the body behind him, closing his eyes once more as he felt warm lips brush against the nape of his neck.

:::

"Sir? Sir?" a gentle voice woke him and he opened bleary eyes to see the flight attendant looking at him. "I'm sorry sir, but we will be landing soon," she smiled and he nodded, shaking the sleep off and sitting up, getting himself ready for the landing before looking out at the ground below him.

He had lost most of the day traveling to reach Dean’s last location, and had been wondering how he was going to find Dean’s motel, figuring that was the best place to start searching. He had therefore been surprised when Missouri had been able to give him the name of the motel Dean was staying in when they last spoke, and her explanation that she insisted that he tell her where he was staying whenever he called sent pains through his heart.

Missouri, even with her enmity with Dean had been a better friend to him over the last few years than Sam had been brother, and that knowledge hurt.

As he looked back now, even just a few hours after being faced with all the truths that he hadn't wanted to hear, he couldn't say why he had been so stubborn and treated Dean so badly. He was his brother, the only family he had left any more; he had once professed to know him better than anyone, so how had he been so blind to the reality of why Dean had pushed him away?

Even if he had left Dean and gone back to his 'normal' life, he still should've kept in touch with him. He had no excuse for not doing it, especially since he had asked Missouri for Dean's new number and had received a cold glare in return. Dean hadn't changed his number. And if Sam had tried to call his brother even once, he would have known that.

But no, Sam had to be obstinate, and a coward. Too scared to face his own brother and admit he was wrong.

He sighed; closing his eyes against the burn of tears he could feel building again. He could almost hear Dean in his head teasing him for being an emo-kid, going all Dr. Phil on himself like that. His lips twisted into a half-smile; right now he'd give anything to have Dean tease him again.

He felt the plane bank into its final approach and opened his eyes to watch as they came in to land, going through his mental list of all the things he needed to do next. Hire a car. Get to the motel. Find Dean's room. Find any clues. Find Dean. God, he hoped he could find Dean, and soon.


	3. Part Two

Sam pulled his rental into the motel’s parking lot and pulled up next to the office. He got out of the car and walked inside. An old man looked up from the TV he was watching and stood, offering Sam a smile.

Sam smiled back and moved closer, pulling out his wallet. "Hi there, I'd like a room please."

"Certainly young man," he replied. "Would you like a single or a double?"

"Single please, for a couple of days," he told him, hoping that he'd be able to find Dean much faster than that.

The old man nodded and handed Sam the book to sign, taking Sam's credit card and swiping it through the reader. Sam checked out the names above his, spotting one that looked like Dean's handwriting. The room number was written next to it, and Sam noticed that the room was paid up until the following Monday- that would hopefully give him another four days before the owner started getting itchy. It should be plenty of time.

Sam took the key and his card back from the man with a smile of thanks, and headed out of the office. Looking down he saw that he'd been given the room next to Dean's and closed his fingers around the key tightly with a grin. That made things easier.

He moved his car, parking outside his room before going around to the rental's trunk, pulling out his bag. He quickly entered his room and dropped his stuff onto the bed. He then moved back to the window and checked that no-one was looking before slipping out of the door and making quick work of the lock to Dean’s room.

He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him, remembering doing this to another room, in another state. Except this time he was looking for Dean.

Looking around the room he was surprised. He had somehow expected the room to look just like his father's room in Jericho, all disorganized chaos with things tacked on the walls and half eaten food on the side. Dean had never been the tidiest person on the planet, often leaving clothes and empty wrappers lying around, but here, there was nothing.

Dean's bag was on the only chair in the room, and a quick look revealed his clothes and several weapons still packed, a glance at the small table found several empty coffee cups neatly stacked alongside half a bottle of Whiskey, with several newspaper cuttings and a journal like their fathers laying haphazardly on the surface.

Sam sat down on the nearest bed, overwhelmed for a moment. Everything was so neat and tidy, except for the coffee cups and the Dean-shaped indentation in the otherwise untouched covers on the other bed. It was almost as if Dean had just walked into the room and dropped his stuff before going out again. It was so unlike him that Sam wondered just how much his brother had changed in the last two years.

Even after everything Missouri had said about how much Dean had changed, how much he had lost, somehow Sam had still thought of his brother being constant, steadfast. It was only now, faced with the physical evidence of Dean's life that things began to come into focus.

Sam reached up and checked under the pillow, revealing Dean's knife, which he picked up and held, closing his eyes and muttering "Precaution," under his breath, his lips twisting into a wry smile. "Some things never change," he muttered.

As he reached up a thumb and touched the edge of the blade his smile fell as he realized the blade wasn't its usual razor sharpness.

 _"He’s getting reckless, like he don’t care if he makes it out or not,"_ Missouri's words echoed in his head and he shuddered as if someone had just walked across his grave.

Sam sighed and opened his eyes again, looking around at the room once more, wishing that Dean was there with him, even if it was only to hear him bitch and moan like he used to.

Standing, Sam moved over to the table, moving Dean's bag to the bed and settling himself down in the chair. Opening the journal, Sam skimmed through the pages, picking out the odd word or phrase as he flicked through everything that Dean had been doing for the past few years.

Something fell out from between the pages and Sam reached down and picked it up off of the floor, turning it over and finding his face staring back at him. It was a picture of the two of them together, taken sometime after Jess and before they’d found their father.

It was strange, Sam thought, how he couldn’t remember a thing about where or when the photo was taken. He stared at the Dean in the picture, his lips curling into an unconscious smile at the grin on Dean’s face as he made bunny ears behind Sam’s head, both of them laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world.

There had been good times back then, when the two of them had reached a point where they were comfortable enough with each other to just let their walls down and just cut loose. This had been one of them, and Sam felt a pang as he wondered when Dean had last smiled like that, if he’d ever found someone else he could drop his barriers for.

He looked around the room and shook his head. Like that was even a valid question.

Sam put the picture down carefully before turning back to the journal. Finding the last page, Sam carefully read over the contents, trying to find some clue as to what Dean had been planning, and where he had gone.

“Men don’t seem to have any connection- except that they all visited the same bar in the days leading up to their disappearances, and that they vanished at the rate of one every six days after the first. Spoke to owner, Jake Hodges, and he claims not to remember any of them- possible as is a busy place and the men weren’t regulars. Spoke to waitresses, but none of them seem to remember anything strange either.” Sam read aloud.

“One of the waitresses remembers the last guy that went missing had been served mainly by Judith, but Judith doesn’t remember him. Something about her. Need to check her out.” Sam smiled, typical Dean writing about his potential hook-ups in his journal.

Sam put the book down and picked up the mix of newspaper clippings, photocopies and print outs. Flicking through them he found Dean had pulled up all the information he could find on the four missing men. He looked through the info, piecing together Dean’s work, cross-checking against other things Dean had scrawled in the journal.

Dean had done a pretty thorough job, and Sam could see that he was right, all signs pointed to the bar as being the only common link between the men. He then picked up a second bundle of papers and started to flick through them. He frowned as he spotted the name and dates on the top of the newspaper.

These were from another town, over 600 miles away, and from 1975. He scanned the headlines, eyes jumping to the information that Dean had deemed important and highlighted. The same thing had happened before, except there six men had vanished in total, one every six days after the first.

Flicking even further, Sam discovered another set of newspaper headlines, from yet another town, all from 1942. And at the bottom was a third set from 1909. Putting aside the older reports for the moment, Sam concentrated on the most recent and the 1975 cases, spotting where Dean had circled things he thought might be relevant.

As he turned over one of the pages a scribbled marking caught his eye. It was four dots, connected by three lines. Sam squinted and turned it around, looking at it to try and make sense of it. Why had Dean drawn it? It was vaguely familiar to him in some way, but it wasn’t any common sigil that he recognized.

He looked around the room, hoping to see something that he had missed, and his eyes fell on the laptop. Hoping that Dean still never cleared his browser history, Sam booted it up to see if it held any keys.

The laptop whirred to life and Sam settled himself more comfortably, spreading everything he needed around him. Notebook and pen at his side, research all around, he could almost pretend that Dean was sat on the bed behind him cleaning his guns, like he always used to.

Dean had never been much for talking, unless he was chatting some girl up, but even then Sam had always found it funny that Dean could hold an entire conversation with someone, finding out everything about them without ever seeming to tell them anything about himself. It meant that alone in their room at night, more often than not Dean and Sam would spend a lot of the time in silence, but it had never really been uncomfortable for either of them.

It had taken Sam a long time after Dean had left to realize the difference between the comfortable silence between two people who didn’t need to fill the air with pointless chatter, and the silence of being completely alone. And he still wasn’t used to the latter.

Looking though the research again, Sam now cross checked it all with the history on Dean’s browser, thanking every deity he could think of that his big brother was still predictable in some respects. How many times had a much younger Sam teased his older brother about the porn sites he had been surfing, getting the cocky Dean-doesn’t-give-a-shit-about-it attitude in return?

He felt a smile flicker across his face as he clicked on the most recently visited links and waited for the pages to load.

As various map sites loaded up, Sam frowned. Dean knew where these places all were, and the glove box of the Impala probably held maps for most of the continental United States; so why did he feel the need to Google it?

He zoomed out on the map and stopped, frowning as he took in the view. The map window now showed each of the locations of the previous disappearances, along with the most recent. He grabbed Dean’s sketch once more and held it up next to the screen. The dots corresponded exactly to the four towns. He still felt he was missing something though.

He picked up his pen and drew the design for himself, stopping when he automatically started to add another line to a non-existent point. Except it wasn’t non-existent. It just hadn’t happened yet. With dawning clarity, Sam drew the rest of the symbol, holding it up next to the screen and seeing if his theory was correct. It was- exactly where the 5th point would be, stood another town. When all the lines were linked together, they formed an inverted pentagram- and Sam was smart enough not to discount that as coincidence, especially when another quick check revealed that the towns were exactly 666 miles apart.

“Fuck, so what do we have here? A solo occultist or a group?” he asked himself quietly.

In cases like this, Occultists tended to have strict rituals, which meant that once you had the pattern, they were relatively easy to predict, compared to some of their quarries. The trick was to find the pattern.

Dean had seemingly discovered the pentagram, but something told Sam that couldn’t be it, there had to be something more. And no matter what it looked like, there had to be a link between the men, something that tied them together beyond visiting the same bar. That may have been the last step, but Sam was sure that there was something about them which had made them marked.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clearing his mind and centering himself. He may have not done this kind of research in a while, but he was still the best at it. His mind was logical, his lecturers had said, easily able to find the one piece of relevant information in a stack of uselessness. It was one of the reasons why he would have been such a good lawyer, if only he’d stayed on that path.

Taking out the pen, Sam started to go back through the information in painstaking detail, pushing all of his worry and anxiety out of his head. He was scared for Dean, scared that he’d finally met something that could take him out, alone without backup; but at the same time he knew that he had to bury that worry down deep, so that he could concentrate on finding the pattern, working out the connection. Because then, and only then, would he be led to his brother.

***

 

It was several hours before he finally got the connection, causing him to snap up in the chair.

 

“Six,” Sam said aloud. The one thing that kept recurring was the number six. Six victims, each taken six days apart, the first taken on a date that added up to the number six. The most recent spate beginning on May 1st, 5+1= 6. 33 years between each set of disappearances, 3+3= 6. There was the 666 miles between each of the towns. But what did that have to do with the victims? Not just the most recent but those that came before. Not all of them had the number six in their birth dates; hardly any had that number in their ages. But it had to be there somewhere, it was the only explanation.

 

He frantically looked down the list of missing once more, knowing that he was so close to breaking the code. He ran his finger under the birth date of the most recent victim, Matthew Saunders, 8/12/1984; and the one before: 1/26/1977.

 

“Fuck,” he finally spat, running his hand through his hair.

 

“Fucking numerology,” he swore. “They’re using fucking numerology.”

 

He added the numbers up properly to make sure, and was unsurprised at the result.

 

8+1+2+1+9+8+4= 33. 3+3=6

 

1+2+6+1+9+7+7=33. 3+3=6

 

Sam dropped his pen on the table.

 

“Dean,” he muttered; his voice low and pained. He didn’t need to do the numbers to know what the result would be, but he did it anyway.

 

1+2+4+1+9+7+9=33. 3+3=6

 

“Oh Dean, you stupid fucker,” he swore. “Even after all this time you still go in half cocked without thinking everything through.”

Suddenly his cell phone rang, making him jump. Reaching into his pocket, Sam pulled out his cell, recognizing the number and hitting send.

"Missouri!" he spoke, his voice low and tight with worry.

"Sam? What's wrong? Didya find your brother yet?" she asked.

"No. Damnit. I'm in his room, looking over his notes. And when I do find him I'm going to kick his sorry ass," he told her, the shock sliding into anger.

Missouri made a shocked noise on the other end of the line. "Sam!"

"We’re dealing with an occultist, maybe more than one,” he explained. “And they’re choosing the victims through numerology. Dean had all the info; he just didn’t follow it all the way through to the end. This has happened before, and if you plot the locations on a map it forms an inverted pentagram. Everything leads back to 6. There’s 666 miles between each town, every 33 years, six victims, vanishing every six days. Dean got that far. But he didn’t work out what the connection was with each of the victims. And that’s the real kicker. Their numerology life numbers all end up at 6.” He stopped and took a deep breath.

Sam paused as he heard Missouri take a sharp inhalation of air, as if she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"Missouri?" Sam continued. “So does Dean’s.”

"That boy..." Missouri sighed, her voice sad.

“Missouri!” Sam yelled. "Dean fits the damn profile perfectly, he must have had some idea, known that he hadn’t followed it through and got the link yet, and he still went, alone, to try and deal with this?"

“That’s how he’s been,” Missouri reminded him. “Alone.”

That took the edge off of Sam's anger and he sighed. “You think they’ve got him too?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I think he went there not caring either way,” Missouri replied. “No matter what I say to his face, he’s not stupid Sam, far from it, but he’s tired. I think he knew that he was going in half blind. It’s always worked for him before, but he knew his luck wouldn’t hold forever; there was just something about him when he made that last call to me. I think he knew then there was a good chance he wouldn’t be walking away from this one, he just no longer cared.”

Sam closed his eyes and bit his lip, pain ripping through his body at the thought that his brother had broken so much. He never thought that it could ever happen to Dean.

"You take away a man's foundations and you expect him not to fall?" Missouri's voice came through on the line.

"You and your father, you were his foundations, everything he had. He lost one and pushed away the other himself, to give you what you needed. He knew what he was doing, what it would do to him, but your brother is the most stubborn bastard I've ever known. Even more so than your father, and that's saying something," she stopped and sighed.

"Look, Sam. He’s only the fifth to be taken right?” She asked. “That means there will still be one more. It might not be too late."

"You think he's still alive?" Sam asked, incredulously.

"I don't know, but I do know you've got to go and make sure. An occultist like that must be using pretty powerful magic for whatever it is they’re doing. It stands to reason if they need more than one victim. It also means they’re probably being held somewhere in preparation, and that there’s going to be a big finale."

Sam cursed. "Missouri, I've got to go. One way or the other I've got to find him; and today is the sixth day since Dean was taken."

"Okay Sam, you be careful now y'hear?" she warned him. "And you call me and let me know what happens, no matter what," she demanded.

"Will do," Sam promised, ending the call.

He carefully picked up the journal, slipping it into a pocket of his jacket. He swung around to face the bed, standing and pulling out Dean's clothes and weapons, taking stock of anything he could use.

He grabbed a handgun and found the silver bullets, checking the clip before loading the gun and tucking it in the back of his jeans so that it rested in the small of his back. He shivered, partly from the shock of the cold metal, and partly from having so much of Dean surrounding him, touching him. It'd been a long time.

He quickly put the container of salt, lighter fluid, a silver blade in a sheath and a few spare rock salt cartridges in the now empty bag, adding a flask of holy water to his pockets. Next he checked the shotgun and loaded it up with shells before dropping that in as well.

Finally, he grabbed a flash light, just in case. He turned it on, nodding when the light flickered on, before switching it back off again and putting it in the other coat pocket. Looking around the room one last time, Sam made sure that there was nothing else he could use before moving to the door and checking for any prying eyes before he slipped back out of Dean's room and into his.

Dropping the bag on the bed, Sam pulled out a bottle of water and some snack bars that he'd picked up when he’d refueled the car at a gas station, just in case he needed them for Dean, and then he quickly changed, pulling on boots and a thicker hoody, layering himself up against the night's chill. He slipped the gun back into his waistband and put the silver blade and sheath in his boot, the cool leather and metal quickly warming to his body heat.

Turning and catching his own reflection in the mirror he stopped, looking at a face he thought he knew. He'd been so sure, so certain that everything he had done was right, that his brother hadn't needed him, that he could go on and live his perfect life, but all it had taken was one phone call to bring it all crashing down around his ears, bringing him back to everything he had walked away from.

And maybe he had been right, and maybe he had been wrong, but right now the only thing that mattered was finding his brother, and all the other shit could wait. Watching as the determination shone bright in his eyes, Sam nodded to himself before opening the door and heading out into the night.


	4. Part Three

Climbing into the rental, Sam checked the directions to Jake’s, the bar that seemed to be at the center of all the disappearances. He stifled the urge to bust in there and question everyone about Dean, but knew that he needed to be discrete. Asking questions would only tip off whoever was doing this, and he might lose his only chance, so instead he needed to go watch and listen.

The bar was only about a five minute drive from the motel, but such was the size of the town that it was right on the outskirts, close to the forest that surrounded the town. It was the sort of out of the way dump that Dean used to go in to hustle pool.

There were more than a few cars and motorcycles parked outside, and Sam pulled up away from the building to where the car would be hidden deep in shadow. A quick check revealed no sign of the Impala, but Sam wasn’t surprised. A beast like the Chevy parked outside a bar without moving for more than a day or so would arouse suspicion, so he doubted whoever was doing this would have left it here.

Walking inside he was assaulted by the sounds, sights and smells of the bar, once more half expecting Dean to be over by the pool tables with his knowing smirk and cocky grin.

He moved straight to the bar, his long-dormant hunter senses kicking into high gear as he took in everything around him and searched for possible threats and things that stood out.

He ordered a beer and handed over some cash before spotting an empty booth that gave him a good vantage point for the rest of the bar. He walked over to it and settled himself in, constantly scanning for anything that looked suspicious.

He nursed his beer for some time as he watched the comings and goings of the bar. Most of those there seemed to be regulars, laughing and drinking, playing darts and pool together and chatting to the waitresses; but there was one other guy who caught Sam’s attention. He just didn’t look like he fit in here, completely out of place in a bar like this, like he’d fit in much better in a wine bar or something.

Sam watched as one of the waitresses seemed to find ways to keep passing the guy, even though he was still nursing his single pint.

Tipping back the last of his own drink, Sam watched as the same waitress made her way over to him, reaching for his empty glass with a smile.

“Hey honey, can I get you another?” she asked.

Sam took her in and smiled back, nodding his thanks as she picked up the glass and headed back to the bar. He glanced over at the man again to see he was watching the waitress as she made her way back to Sam with a fresh beer in her hand.

“There you go cutie,” she winked as she set the glass down in front of him. He looked at her and forced out a grin.

“Thanks…” he paused.

“Judith,” she replied, and Sam nodded.

“Judith,” he parroted, lifting his beer and saluting her before taking a sip, handing over the money. “Keep the change,” he told her, and she grinned at him once more before vanishing back in the direction of the bar.

Sam put the beer back down on the table, frowning as he realized his earlier error. Dean hadn’t been writing about a potential hook-up in the journal, he’d been suspicious of her. And Sam could see what he meant. She looked normal enough, but there was just something wrong about her, something that felt off.

He watched as she headed back in the direction of the lone man at the table, keeping her attention on him. Although he couldn’t hear anything of their conversation from where he was sitting, there was something about the glazed look in the man’s eyes, a blankness that could be passed off as drunkenness, but that Sam was almost sure wasn’t that simple. He was so sure that he was willing to bet that if he asked the guys birth date he’d come up with six once more.

He kept an eye on the rest of the bar, looking for any sign of anything else out of place or strange, but the only thing seemed to be Judith and that man. As Sam’s brain rapidly put the pieces together he became more and more certain that Dean was right, and that Judith was the culprit behind all of the disappearances. He’d been concerned that there might be more than one person involved in this, as two or more people were bad odds for him when he was on his own, and he felt a pang in his heart for how many times Dean would have had to face multiple targets on his own in the last few years.

He forced his mind away from that path, concentrating instead on what was happening here and now, and decided that he needed to watch Judith and this man, counting on the fact that one of them would be able to lead him to Dean and the others.

An hour or so later he watched as Judith once more spoke to the man, this time whispering something in his ear before leaving, going out through a back door to some kind of office. Sam frowned as he watched the man stand almost mechanically and head towards the exit. Sam glanced back at the door Judith had left through, waiting for her to reappear, but she didn’t. Sam took a chance and stood up, following the man out of the exit, shadowing him as he walked down to one of the cars and opened the door, getting in. Sam waited for him to start the car and leave, but nothing happened, and the man simply sat there.

“What the hell?” Sam muttered to himself, watching him sit there. It was as if the man was in a trance. Moving closer Sam could see his eyes, staring blankly straight ahead of him, right through Sam.

“Well that answers that question,” he muttered under his breath, moving back from the car and heading for his own. From there he wouldn’t be so conspicuous, and would be ready to follow this guy, whenever he finally moved.

Settling low into the driver’s seat of his rental, Sam adjusted the rear view mirror so that he had a clear view of the man’s car, and waited.

Almost twenty minutes later, and Sam was beginning to tire, the events of the last 24 hours catching up on him. Therefore he almost missed it when a slight figure slipped around the side of the building and climbed into the passenger’s side of the man’s car. He came fully awake as the car started up behind him and reversed out of the space, the automatic interior light of the car showing Judith sitting in the passenger seat before it switched off and the car pulled out of the lot.

Switching on his own engine, Sam carefully pulled out after them, tailing them at some distance. They quickly left the town behind them and drove into the forest and so Sam switched off his headlights so as not to draw any attention. He only hoped that there were no police cruisers out to pull him over, because if they did he was going to lose his one shot at finding Dean.

He kept well back, only able to see them when they pulled onto a straight stretch of road, and tailed them for miles before rounding a corner and finding no sign of them.

“Fuck” he swore as he slammed on the breaks, looking around wildly for any clues to where they might have gone.

Not seeing anything he turned the car around, as he must have missed a turning somewhere- a car doesn’t just vanish into thin air. This time he risked switching on the headlights as he drove as slowly as he dared looking for any routes off of the road.

Just a few hundred yards further he spotted a narrow track that he had missed the first time, and he turned the car into it, hoping that this was the right way, and there wasn’t another track further down that Judith and her victim had driven down instead. He switched off his headlights once more, wishing like hell he could keep them on, but unwilling to give away his presence in case it was noticed as he drove down the dirt track.

After a few minutes Sam stopped the car, frustrated. Being in the car was slowing him down too much, as he was creeping down the track because he could barely see where he was going. He’d be faster on foot. He climbed out and took the keys with him, leaving the car blocking the way in case Judith or anyone else tried to drive out; Sam then grabbed the bag of weapons and locked up the car, heading the rest of the way on foot.

As luck would have it he only had to travel another six or seven hundred yards before the track opened into a massive clearing, with a house in the middle of it, and the man’s car sitting out front.

Sam sighed, his eyes slipping closed momentarily in relief that he’d got it right, before he started skirting the clearing to get closer to the house- not wanting to risk crossing in the open just in case he was seen.

As he got closer to the house, Sam reached an old rickety barn and slipped in through a gap in the wall. The barn was empty except for a few old bales of hay and a large canvas-covered lump in the middle of the floor. Sam frowned at it, pulling out his flash light as he moved closer, something about the shape of it setting off alarm bells in his head.

He reached up a hand and carefully lifted a corner of the tarpaulin, glancing around him before slipping his other hand under the heavy material and switching the flash light on.

Black metal and chrome shined back at him, and he stifled a moan. It was the Impala. He glanced back up in the direction of the house, glaring daggers at Judith even though he couldn’t see her.

Bringing his attention back to the car, Sam carefully uncovered it, looking for any signs of damage on her. She looked tired and worn, gleaming dully in the half light of the moon shining in through the barn’s broken roof. Even in this poor light Sam could see the wear and tear on her, the mud and dust covering her like a shroud, and even though Sam wanted to believe it was as a result of being driven through the woods and ending up here in the barn, he knew it wasn’t all down to that.

Moving up to the driver’s side, Sam flicked the flash light back on again, peering into the driver’s seat. A glance showed him that the door was unlocked, but he didn’t dare open it in case that ever-present creak alerted Judith to his presence. The one thing that did catch his attention was the flash of keys, still sitting in the ignition. Sam closed his eyes briefly in a mixture of anguish at one more sign of Dean’s absence and anger at the person who had taken his brother; then he turned and reopened his eyes, heading for the door to the barn.

He cracked one door open an inch so he could get a good look at the house, and frowned at the stillness. There were no lights on, no sounds coming from within, nothing that made it look like there was anyone even there, except for the shiny car of the newest intended victim sitting right out front.

Risking it, Sam broke cover as he slipped silently out of the door and shut it behind him before stealing across the open space between the barn and the house, coming to rest tight against the side of the building, well away from any windows.

He edged closer to one of the windows, carefully peeking inside, alert for any sign of movement. The bag on his shoulder felt heavy, but he didn’t stop to adjust it, instead he ducked beneath that window and moved on to the next, as he methodically checked every door and window in turn, searching for any movement.

He made his way around the entire building and ended up back on the same side he started, facing the barn once more. He stood still for a moment, as he drew silent strength from the thought of the Impala, of Dean, and everything that they stood for; family, love, life, joy… and then he headed for the door.

***

It was quiet as Sam picked the lock and slipped inside the house. He paused, taking in his surroundings. He knew the ground floor was empty and glanced at the stairs, trying to gauge which ones were likely to creak the most, when a soft noise from his right caught his attention.

He followed it silently towards the kitchen and stopped on the threshold, frowning as he was met by nothing but an empty room. He was about to turn and go back when he heard it once more, a woman’s voice, rising and falling, sound muffled by something, like she was behind a door, or the other side of a wall.

Sam stepped into the room then, eyes searching for any hidden doors or panels, when his attention was drawn by a glint of light in the darkness. He moved over closer to the source, and finally spotted the trapdoor in the floor, probably leading to the cellar. He heard the voice once more and knew he was in the right place, but how could he get down there without Judith seeing him? He needed to keep the element of surprise, but how the hell was he going to manage that?

He crept closer, setting his bag down on the floor and then eased the handle up, laying himself flat on the ground before cracking the trapdoor open just a little; enough that he could see inside.

The cellar was lit entirely with candles; yellow glow flickering against the walls and ceiling, and it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust. He could see Judith on the other side of the cellar with her back to the stairs, attention entirely on the altar in front of her, her monotonous chanting filling the room. Behind her, Sam could see six men, one stood on each of the five points of a pentagram, with the sixth standing in the centre. His body tensed as he recognized Dean as the man stood in the middle.

All of the men were completely docile, standing unnaturally still, yet not obviously restrained in any way. There must have been some strong magic holding them, and he was going to have to be very careful.

The pitch of her voice rose, a strange echoing sound resonating through the small space, and Sam decided that he couldn’t wait any longer. He lifted the trapdoor slowly higher, holding his breath in case it creaked and gave away his presence, and sighed in relief when it didn’t.

He made his body almost impossibly small as he crawled into the space and set his foot on the stairs. He eased the gun out of the back of his pants and held it ready, trained steadily on her back. Using his free hand, he gently lowered the trapdoor back down behind him, never moving his attention from the scene in front of him. He eased down the steps one at a time, practically laying back on the stairs as he moved, stretching his senses for any sign that she’d noticed him, or that anything else is about to manifest in front of him. He recognized some of the symbols on the floor in the pentagram, some of the words she was chanting, and his mind supplied the translations- offering and supplication, renewal.

He didn’t like the sound of that, and when he got about half way down he considered just shooting her in the back when the air changed as a wind whipped through the room. Sam watched in horror as the men were all engulfed in bright light, and they seemed to lift up off of the floor a little, blocking his shot.

Sam frowned, biting back a curse as he was forced to move so that he could get a clear shot at Judith, not wanting to risk hitting Dean or one of the others.

After that everything happened in a flash, as the next step he put his weight on creaked loudly. Judith spun around, eyes flashing as she saw him and an invisible force threw him off of the stairs. He tried to tuck and roll, but didn’t have time and hit the floor hard, his gun skittering out of his grasp.

Sam cursed as he tried to get his breath back and his feet back under him, but she was on him before he got a chance for either, screaming incomprehensibly and clawing at his face, his arms. All the impressions of a nice young waitress were gone; and up close Sam could see signs of age and weariness on her face. She sure wasn’t happy about his little interruption.

She knocked him against the wall and his head swam for a moment before he managed to push her away. She was slammed against the wooden stairs, momentarily stunned. She started to chant and Sam felt his throat constrict as if something was crushing his windpipe. He automatically reached one hand to his throat, finding nothing there as he dropped to his knees, gasping. She moved closer, gloating as she watched him struggle for breath.

“Aren’t you a lil’ short to be Vader?” he wheezed, channeling Dean for a minute.

Sam closed his eyes, his body was screaming for oxygen, but he waited until she stepped closer into his range as he pulled the silver dagger out of its sheath in his boot and grasped it firmly, using the last of his strength to rise up enough so that he could plunge it into her chest.

The look of shock on her face would have been comical if he weren’t about to pass out himself, and he watched as the light faded from her eyes and she dropped like a puppet who had just had its strings cut.

As soon as she hit the floor Sam felt the grip loosen on his throat and he gasped, hands shooting out to stop him from faceplanting on the ground.

He heard several thumps behind him, and managed to turn his head and clear his vision enough to see that light had vanished and all of the men had all collapsed to the ground. The spell, and presumably the sacrifice had ended with Judith’s death.

A wind whipped through the room once more, and Sam turned in time to see Judith’s body start to rapidly age, going from a 20-something girl to a withered old hag in the matter of a few seconds. It was like watching the guy at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade after he drank from the wrong cup, only without the screaming. In less than a minute all that was left was bones and dust.

Finally getting his breath back, Sam managed to stand, using the wall to help him keep upright. Crossing to the altar, Sam looked at it for a minute before deciding to trash it, not taking any chances as he knocked it all to the floor and scattered the offerings.

Turning back to the men on the floor, Sam watched as they started to move, rolling their heads back and forth as if waking from a deep sleep. Moving over to them he made sure to scuff the symbols on the floor, breaking the circle before stepping inside and kneeling beside the nearest man.

“Hey, you with me?” Sam asked as his eyes opened, staring blankly for a second before he seemed to snap back into the present, focusing on Sam’s face.

“Mmm god. Wha’ happened?” he asked Sam, obviously disorientated. “Where am I? What happened?”

Sam helped him sit, frowning at how pale and cold the man was, and watching as the other men moved as well, one other man sat up, but the others were obviously recovering slower and still lying on the floor. The two sitting up were confused and looking at Sam for answers.

“I’m Sam,” he told them.

“Matt,” the man he was helping replied.

“Jamie,” the other answered, and Sam recognized him as the one he had followed earlier that night.

“What do you remember?” he asked, hedging. It’d been a while since he needed to try and explain away anything supernatural to innocent bystanders.

“I…” Matt began. His eyes opened suddenly, as if he was hit by memories. “Oh god, she… and then I… and…” he stuttered, and Sam closed his eyes as the men seemed to remember everything, and he sighed that he didn’t have to explain that much, at least.

He looked for Dean, waiting for him to say something, and startled when he realized that Dean hadn’t moved at all, that he was still lying on the floor, eerily still.

Sam let go of Matt, pleased to see that he seemed to be able to sit upright unaided, and moved the few feet to his brother.

“Dean?” he whispered, his voice cracking. He was almost too scared to touch him, afraid to discover that he had been too late and Dean had paid the ultimate price.


	5. Part Four

His hand shook as he reached out and touched Dean’s back, sliding his hand over to his arm and gently rolling him over so that Dean ended up on his back, his head and shoulders on Sam’s knees.

“Dean?” Sam called again, shaking his brother lightly. Dean’s skin was pale, almost translucent in the flickering candlelight, and when Sam’s fingers touched bare skin it felt like he was touching ice. Sam blinked back tears as he tried to find a pulse, shuddering when he felt the gentle thrumming under his fingers.

“You know him?” Jamie asked.

Sam looked up long enough to make eye contact with him before returning his attention to Dean.

“He’s my brother,” he replied.

“Shouldn’t he be waking up too?” Matt asked. Sam bit back the sharp retort on his lips at that, instead looking up. “I don’t know. Were you all asleep?” he asked, looking around him, as his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair- hair that was much longer than it had been the last time he had seen him, curling behind his ears.

“Sort of,” was the reply from Jamie “It was weird; I don’t know how to describe it. It was like I was sleepwalking. I could feel my body moving, could tell that I was walking, standing, sitting, doing whatever she asked. Hell, I even drove my car with her, but my brain wasn’t engaged. It wasn’t me doing it.”

The other men, who had now become much more alert, all made sounds of agreement.

“And I didn’t care either,” Matt explained further. “I mean, you’d think I’d be freaking out about it right? But I wasn’t. I was in this comfortable place where I didn’t give a damn about reality it was… nice.”

Sam looked back down at his brother, puzzled. If the same was true for Dean, why hadn’t he woken as well?

Jamie had stood and retrieved his coat from a pile in the corner, and he moved back to Sam, settling the coat over Dean, spotting the shivers that had begun to wrack his frame. Sam nodded his thanks and looked around at the remnants of the altar, wondering if the answer lay somewhere in the wreckage.

Meanwhile Matt had stood as well, and was nudging the bones and dust that had once been Judith.

“Does that usually happen?” he asked Sam.

Sam looked at him, “Why do you ask?” he questioned.

“You seem to have a pretty good idea what was happening here, you knew how to stop her, how to break this… whatever it was,” he replied.

“Ritual,” Sam sighed, nodding. “She was a witch, and was going to use you as a sacrifice,” he explained. “She’s been doing the same thing since the turn of the century or thereabouts,” he added.

“That explains why she looks like this then,” Matt shuddered, turning away from the bones and moving back to Sam and the others.

“And you worked it out and saved us?” Jamie asked.

Sam shook his head, looking down at Dean, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t, Dean did. It’s what he does, saving people from things like this. He went missing and I came looking for him. Found his research and tracked it back to the bar. I was just lucky that I turned up on the right night and spotted you acting strangely- if I’d been a day later getting here it would all have been over,” he looked back up at Jamie. “So, when you left the bar I followed you here.”

“So I guess we’ve got both of you to thank then?” one of the other men added.

Sam looked around before ducking his head, other than Dean, all of the men were now alert and sitting upright, listening to Sam talk. “You guys seem remarkably calm about this stuff,” Sam commented, looking around. The men all looked at each other, not sure how to answer that one. Finally Matt spoke up.

“Well, I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m pretty sure I will freak out about it at some point- this is probably gonna put me in therapy for years; but right now everything still seems kinda… detached. Like it’s not real. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up at home in bed and find I’ve dreamed everything.”

“That would be nice,” Jamie nodded.

“It’s sure better than thinking that we were kidnapped by a crazy hundred year old witch and about to be sacrificed for what? So she could stay 21 forever?” Matt asked.

“Pretty much,” Sam shrugged.

“Can we get out of here now?” one of the other men suddenly asked.

Sam looked at him and nodded. “Well, one of you can drive my rental back to the motel Dean and I are staying at, I’ll take Dean in the Impala, and the rest of you can go in either Jamie’s car or the rental,” Sam offered.

They all stood, and Matt came over to give Sam a hand with Dean. Sam looked around one more time and spotted Judith’s discarded spell book on the floor, half under the altar.

“Jamie?” he called, as he was closest to it. “Can you grab that book for me? I want to take it and see if I can work out what she hit you all with,” he explained.

“You’ll be able to work out how to wake your brother up?” Matt asked from beside him.

“That’s the idea,” Sam told him as they half carried Dean up the stairs. Behind them Jamie grabbed Sam’s gun, along with the jacket and weapons that he gathered must have been Dean’s, and followed him out of the cellar, taking one last look at Judith’s remains with a shudder.

Sam paused long enough to grab his bag, handing Dean off to Matt and Jamie as he went back to quickly salt and burn what was left of the bones just to be sure, and at the same time ensuring that the whole building would burn down- he didn’t want any reminder of what had happened to remain.

Once outside the house, Sam found Matt propping Dean gently against the hood of Jamie’s car, Sam took Dean and Jamie handed Matt the items he was carrying. Matt helped Sam carry Dean over to the barn doors, and whistled as he saw the Impala.

“Nice car,” he said, running an appreciative hand over the hood.

“Thanks,” Sam smiled, opening the back door with a creak and climbing half in with Dean to get him settled on the back seat. He took the book and other items and put them on the back seat as well before motioning to Matt to get in the front.

“When we get back to the motel I can give you a lift back to wherever you need to go- is that okay?” he asked and Matt nodded, as Sam slid in behind the wheel.

“We were talking just now,” Matt told Sam. “And we’ve agreed a story that keeps you and your brother out of the things - that way you won’t have the police asking you questions.”

Sam nodded, relieved. “Yeah, thanks.”

Matt shrugged; "Yeah well, it's not like we can tell the truth anyway- no one would ever believe us."

Sam ran his hands over the steering wheel, the dash, the leather seat beneath him. This car had been so much a part of his family, and it felt strange to be held within once more. The inside was a mess of empty food wrappers and maps, yet another sign of Dean’s state of mind. There had been a time when Dean would throw a fit if Sam left so much as a crumb inside the car. Sam shook the thought out of his head. He didn’t need to be thinking things like that now; there was plenty of time later, then he could yell at Dean all he liked for being so stubborn, for pushing Sam away and doing this to himself.

He turned the key in the ignition and felt a half smile cross his face as the Impala rumbled to life.

Sam pulled the car smoothly out of the barn and started down the track, and Jamie pulled his car around to follow them. Sam drove up as far as his rental before stopping and Matt climbed out of the car before turning and leaning back in.

“I’ll see you at your motel,” he smiled and shut the door.

 

Sam glanced in the rear view mirror, catching sight of the flickering glow from the fire as it spread through the old house, reducing it to a pile of flaming rubble.

 

His gaze then dropped to Dean’s silent form in the back seat, and he frowned at how unnatural it was for him to appear so small, so frail.

 

In front of him Matt worked the rental back up the track, and Sam followed slowly, his brain still trying to process everything that had happened. It didn’t take long for them to reach the road, and Sam pulled the Impala out and began to lead the procession back to civilization.

 

He kept the speed constant as Matt and Jamie followed him, until the lights of the town appeared. When they reached the outskirts Jamie flashed his headlights and pulled up alongside the Impala, waving his thanks as he turned off, taking the other men back to their homes and families.

Sam turned in the other direction and headed back to the motel.

*********

It only took a few minutes to get back and Sam cruised the car to a stop, breathing a little easier when he saw the lot was empty. He got out as Matt pulled up beside him.

Sam opened the back door and slid in, and Matt helped Sam pull Dean out of the back seat. Sam opened the motel room door; quickly shoving everything off of the bed nearest the bathroom before he helped Matt set him down on the bed and kicked the door closed behind them.

He turned back to Matt, and thanked him once more.

“Where can I drop you off?” he asked.

Matt shook his head with a smile. “Don’t worry man, I don’t live far from here, I can get back myself,” he told him. “Besides, if we’re trying to keep you out of this, it might not be the best thing if anyone saw you with me.”

Sam knew that it would actually be easy to explain that away, but said nothing.

“Are you sure?” he asked instead as he looked back down at Dean. Matt caught the look and nodded firmly.

“Absolutely. I think you’re needed here man,” he held out his hand once more, and Sam shook it.

“Take care of yourself,” Sam told him.

“And you take care of your brother,” Matt added.

Sam looked back down at Dean with a wistful smile.

Matt nodded once more and clapped Sam on the arm gently before he turned and headed for the door. Sam followed him out, going as far as the car and lifted a hand in silent goodbye as Matt walked off into the darkness.

Once he was out of sight, Sam turned back to the Impala. He picked up the bag and various items he’d shoved in there earlier before he locked the car and returned to Dean’s room.

Sam quickly secured the door and windows, putting together the protections and making sure that everything was in place before he returned to Dean's side. He slumped on the floor, one hand reaching out to touch his brother, hovering over his form but not quite making contact.

He finally let his hand rest on Dean, gently squeezing his arm, trying to convince himself that this was all real. With his free hand he pulled out his cell, fumbling fingers somehow managing to dial Missouri's number. The phone barely rang once before it was picked up, Missouri's voice calming Sam enough that he let his eyes slip shut and his head fall back against the bedside table behind him with a thump.

"Sam?" she called softly.

"I've got him," Sam replied, his voice husky with unshed tears as everything suddenly hit him at once.

"How is he?" Missouri prodded gently, sensing Sam's distress easily even over that distance.

"I don't know. Not good," Sam responded, his hand tightening on Dean's arm momentarily. "He looks like he's sleeping. But I couldn't wake him. I killed the witch and I got him out of there but Dean didn't wake up. The others woke up, but he didn’t. He's so pale and cold, why won't wake up?"

"Oh Sam," Missouri comforted him. "Where are you now?"

"Back at the motel," he replied. "Didn't think a hospital would do much good right now."

"You're right Sam," she confirmed. "As much of a good thing it would be to get an IV in him and re-hydrated, a hospital just won't be able to handle his kind of problem."

"What do I need to do Missouri?" Sam asked. His mind was spinning and he found it difficult to concentrate on any one thing. He knew that he needed to get Dean warmed up, to try something, anything to wake him up. Too many things to do, problems to solve, and with his emotions running so high he was having a hard time prioritizing.

He needed to talk it through with someone, to have someone tell him he was doing the right things, telling him what to do. Before, he always had either his father or Dean there to help him, point him in the right direction, give him strength to carry on, to tell him to stop being a pussy and get on with it, but his father was dead and Dean was almost there, and Sam just couldn't focus, he wasn't used to dealing with things like this on his own.

"Honey, you know exactly what you need to do," Missouri told him gently. "You need to take care of your brother. Once that is done you can take things from there."

"You think Dean will wake up on his own?" he asked, a thread of hope coloring his voice.

"I don't know Sam," she replied forlornly. "Just take it one step at a time and you'll be fine."

"I don't know if I can do this," Sam confided in her guiltily.

"You can and you will Sam," Missouri told him firmly. "Your brother doesn't believe that you owe him anything. But you do owe him to at least try. What else are you going to do? Put him in a hospital and leave him there?"

Sam shook his head fiercely, tears coursing freely down his cheeks as he clasped Dean's hand until his knuckles went white. "No. Never. He never gave up on me; I won't give up on him now."

"There you go," she told him. "I always told Dean you were good for him," she spoke almost to herself.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, confused by her words, but at the same time finding his brain clearing and settling on a plan of action.

"Never mind, child," she dismissed him softly. "You just go and do what you need to do, and remember that I'm here if you need me, y'hear?"

Sam nodded now, forgetting that she couldn't see him but knowing that she knew all the same. "Thanks Missouri."

"Don't you mention it. You just get your brother well, okay?" she told him before hanging up.

Sam dropped the cell phone into his lap, releasing his grip on Dean's arm at the same time and reaching up both hands to scrub at his face and through his hair. He could do this. He was a Winchester damnit, son of John and brother of Dean, and he'd be damned if he'd let something like a shriveled up old hag take anything from him, least of all his brother.

He stood, casting a quick look at Dean before heading for the tiny bathroom. He was pleased to find a mould-free bath in there, and immediately started to fill the tub, making sure the water was warm, but not too hot. He left the taps running and returned to Dean, looking down at him for a moment before he started to remove his clothes.

He muttered a quiet "Sorry man," before he eased him up and worked on removing his shirt and t-shirt, before he laid him back down and gently removed his jeans. He then rushed back into the bathroom and turned off the taps.

Checking once more that the temperature was okay, Sam returned to his brother’s side and stripped off his own hoody and shirt. He then carefully lifted Dean into his arms. Seeing him like this, naked apart from his boxers, Sam was shocked to realize how much Dean had changed physically. He was still fit and muscular; a byproduct of being a hunter, but his body was no longer soft, the muscles and sharp angles of bones standing out clearly beneath his skin. He was so pale, and his skin was littered with new scars.

Yet somehow, even with all those changes, it was Dean's hair that kept catching his attention. When they'd been children, Dean's hair had been wild, like Sam's, although he had never kept it nearly as long as Sam, it used to curl behind his ears, at the base of his neck, making him look younger than he was. Dean never seemed to care, it never got long enough for the bangs to get in his eyes, unlike Sam's, and he kept it mostly shoved beneath baseball caps.

That was how Sam remembered him, right up to when he left for Stanford, the night of the last fight between Sam and their father, Dean; half collapsed against the wall, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene as his life fell apart around him, his hands gripping his hair, fingers twisting in the strands as he watched Sam walk out of his life, their father forbidding him to return.

When he had come for Sam at Stanford; that was the first time he had seen his brother's new haircut. Shorter, almost severe, no sign of the boy or young man he had once been. He had looked older, moved differently than Sam had remembered; which was why he hadn't realized it was his brother he was fighting until Dean dropped him to the floor. That had been almost more of a shock than actually seeing Dean again, the fact that he hadn't been able to tell.

His body now told Sam a tale of the life he had been living. Alone, with no-one to watch his back or patch him up when he got hurt, no-one to save him from himself, no-one to give a damn.

“Christ Dean,” Sam muttered, maneuvering his brother’s body through the bathroom doorway. Sam carefully turned in the small space so that he could settle Dean into the water, sliding him down so that as much of him was submerged as was possible. Dean felt hypothermic and Sam needed to get his body temperature up.

To that end he settled himself beside the tub, rolling up a towel and putting it behind Dean’s head to make him more comfortable, before gently scooping up handfuls of water and trailing it over Dean’s neck and shoulders.

Every so often Sam would pull the plug to let some of the cooling water drain away before turning on the hot tap to warm the water, each time raising the temperature a little bit more, until the heat finally began to seep into Dean’s skin.

He risked leaving Dean for a few minutes, grabbing the extra towels and taking them into the bedroom area, spreading the largest out on the bed before he returned to Dean and emptied the tub, lifting him out and carrying him back to the bed. He took a deep breath before carefully removing his wet boxers, quickly drying him off before rolling him off of the towel and back onto the sheets.

He then covered him with the sheets and comforter, stroking his hair back from his forehead before standing once more.

He rummaged quickly in the pile of Dean's clothes, coming up with a clean pair of boxers and t-shirt that he then gently eased Dean into, feeling the blush covering his cheeks as he handled his naked, unconscious brother. That completed, Sam pulled the covers back over him, satisfied that he was warmer now, although still probably a little hypothermic.

He tugged on Dean’s bangs, as if getting his attention.

“Okay Dean,” he started. “I’m gonna work this out and wake you up, and then you and I can have a talk,” Sam smirked, even though he knew that Dean couldn’t see it. “And yes, I know how much you hate actually having to talk. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you get out of it again. No running away Dean. Not this time.”

Sam tugged on Dean’s bangs one more time before smoothing them down and letting go. He slipped off of the bed and stood, pulling on his shirt before gathering up the research and putting it on the bedside table.

He then grabbed the laptop and the book he had taken from Judith and settled down on the bed beside Dean, unwilling to be even a few feet from his brother, in case he woke and Sam didn’t spot it because he was on the other side of the room.


	6. Part Five

The night passed slowly, with Sam pulling up every reference he could find, both online and in Dean’s journal. He kept coming up blank and sighed as he dropped Judith’s spell book on the bed, running his hands over his face and through his hair again. He reached for the cup of coffee on the bedside cabinet beside him, and grimaced as the now cold liquid slipped down his throat.

He looked down at Dean beside him, still unmoving and silent, so unlike his brother. Sam had to constantly fight the urge to check his pulse to make sure he was still alive, because even his breathing seemed to be almost unnaturally silent.

He’d looked everywhere, tried everything, but he couldn’t find a reason why Dean hadn’t woken like the others. Judith was dead, that should have ended it. So why was Dean still unconscious? He didn’t have any head injuries, Sam had checked. He’d found the spell Judith had cast- it was a concoction she slipped into the drinks at the bar to make them susceptible to suggestion, followed by a simple spell that slipped them into an altered state, giving her control of their bodies while leaving their minds untouched, in a dream-like state that left them detached from reality.

But that was it; there was nothing else, no more information or explanation of why Dean was still unconscious, or any clues how to reverse the effects and wake him up. Everything he had seen pointed to the fact that Dean should have woken up by now.

He’d tried everything he could think of, he’d pinched and prodded, yelled in his ear and even broken out the smelling salts- yet nothing had any effect- not even so much as a twitch.

Defeated, Sam leaned back against the headboard, his hand slipping into Dean’s hair once more, almost an unconscious attempt to connect with him, to prove to himself that he hadn’t lost Dean; that he was still there with him in some way.

He could feel the tears beginning to build up behind his closed eyelids, half pain and half frustration at his inability to find the answers. He felt like a failure, and it killed him.

His hand slipped down from Dean’s hair to his neck, fingers fluttering over his pulse point, feeling the rhythmic thumping soothe him just a little.

He reopened his eyes and looked down, as if trying to will Dean to open his eyes, like sheer will alone would work. His eyes roved down Dean’s form to the bottom of the bed, and he caught sight of his cell phone on the desk on the other side of the room.

He petted Dean absentmindedly and stood, moving over to the desk and picking up his phone, scrolling through the numbers as he returned to the bed. He found the number he wanted and hit send as he settled back on the bed once more, his thigh just touching Dean’s lax arm. The phone barely had time to ring before it was answered.

“Sam?” Missouri’s voice came through on the other end, and Sam let out a breath.

“Missouri. I can’t do it. I can’t wake him up,” He told her.

“Now Sam, there’s no such thing as can’t,” she replied, “You just haven’t found the way yet, that’s all.”

“I’ve been looking for hours, and there’s not even a clue Missouri,” Sam told her, exasperated. “I’ve been through every online source I can find, the spell book and Dean’s journal twice, and nothing.”

“So what have you found?” she asked.

Sam sighed and went through everything, all the information he’d found online, all that he had tried, and Missouri just listened, letting him work things through, giving him a sounding board.

Eventually his words dried up, and there was silence on the line for a moment.

“Sam,” Missouri sighed, “have you thought that maybe it’s nothing supernatural keeping your brother from waking up?” she asked, and Sam sat up, with a frown, denial on his lips.

“Missouri…”

“No Sam, hear me out,” Missouri begged.

Sam bit back his words, giving Missouri a chance- after all; he’d not managed to find any answers, so it wouldn’t hurt to let her speak.

Missouri let out a deep sigh. “You said that the others told you that they didn’t care what was happening in reality, that they were happy there, yes?”

Sam made a noise of agreement, not liking where Missouri was going with this.

“Have you thought that maybe Dean hasn’t woken up because of that?”

“He wouldn’t,” Sam argued, understanding what Missouri was insinuating and not liking it one bit.

“Wouldn’t he?” Missouri questioned. “How do you know that, Sam? You haven’t seen nor spoken to him in years, do you really think that you can claim to know anything about him anymore?” Missouri’s voice rose in anger as she continued.

“He may have pushed you away, but that didn’t mean that he ever gave up hope that you’d come back to him,” she admitted.

“Look around you Sam, look his life, what he’s got- think of everything you’ve seen for yourself; and you tell me if you think he’s happy. What was the only thing he ever held onto? What did he care about?” she asked, angrily.

“He cared about family, that’s what. Did you ever even try to call him once in the last coupla years? Why do ya think he kept the same number all this time? Because it sure as hell wasn’t for convenience.”

Sam wanted to silence her, to hang up the phone and end her tirade; but he couldn’t. He looked down at Dean again, his hand still moving restlessly in Dean’s hair.

“He’s only truly loved three people in his entire life- your ma, your pa and you. When he lost your mom he walled himself up tight, refused to let anyone in- but you and John were already inside those walls and he never got over being afraid that he’d lose you both- and he had every right to be. You both left him. It broke something inside, and he’s been looking for a way to stop breathing ever since.”

Sam ignored the tears coursing down his face as Missouri flung the truth at him, feeling the full force of her words.

“So you tell me Sam, if you were in his place, and you were offered the choice between staying in that dream state and being happy, or coming back to a life filled with nothing but endless pain, which would _you_ choose?”

Sam shook his head, knowing that he didn’t need to respond verbally for Missouri to know his answer to that.

“So how do I make him see that he needs to wake up?” he asked softly, his voice hitching.

Missouri sighed again, her anger deflating as she recognized that she’d made her point. “I don’t know Sam- you’ve got to make him see that he does have a reason to return, something to bring him back.”

“But Sam,” she spoke, her tone becoming harsh once more, “Don’t you go making any promises you don’t intend to keep.” With that she hung up the phone.

Sam frowned, looking at his cell phone in confusion.

He dropped the cell back on the bedside table and looked down at Dean, too many emotions running through his head. He was at a loss, Missouri’s words hitting too close for comfort. Deep down he knew that she was right, that Dean felt that he’d lost everything, that he had nothing to keep him tied to this world and every reason to want to give up. Dying would mean the end of the loneliness, the end of the hurt and the promise of peace.

Living meant pain and confusion, a half life in the shadows, no stability or sense of normality- not even of the Winchester fucked up brand. Because to Dean, Sam and Dad were his normal, his sense of home, his family; and without them, Dean felt he was useless.

Sam slipped down on the bed, until his head was beside Dean’s. He slipped his arm across his brother’s torso and squeezed him gently.

“C’mon Dean,” Sam spoke softly, practically breathing the words in Dean’s ear.

He moved his head closer, resting his forehead against Dean’s cheek. “Don’t do this, please.”

Out of ideas, at a loss to find any more ways to wake Dean, and exhausted from everything that had happened, Sam closed his eyes and felt his body relax into Dean’s, too tired to move, and too afraid to lose contact with Dean and find him gone in the morning.

:::

It was quiet and peaceful, and Sam sighed as he snuggled into the warmth beside him. Strong arms held him close, and he felt more than heard the whispering vibrations of that person talking to him gently, urging him back down to sleep once more.

“Dean…” he sighed, feeling the arms squeeze him close in return.

~~~~

As Sam slipped under he became more aware of a myriad of flickering images playing out in front of him, getting closer and closer, until they were almost on top of him. They were jerky and indistinct, bleeding together, layered one over the other, sleepingtalkingresearchingdrivingdrinkingfightingbeingtogetherdeanandsamandsamanddean. It was overwhelming, but all Sam could feel was safetogetherhome. It made him feel dizzy, yet protected all at once and he didn’t fight it as he felt himself be engulfed.

~~~~

The next time he rose to awareness, Sam felt the thrumming of the Impala’s wheels over asphalt, and stirred enough to crack open his eyes. It was dark out, the only light the Impala’s headlights reflecting back from the road and the highlighted dials on the dash. He sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes, confused and disorientated. Turning to his left, his mouth dropped open as he saw Dean in the driver’s seat, concentrating on the road, humming softly to himself.

He opened his mouth to speak, before he got a chance he felt himself being pulled under; despite trying to fight it, Sam slipped back into darkness again.

~~~~

When he opened his eyes again it was daylight, and they were in the mountains, the Impala eating up the twisting roads with ease. Dean was still driving, still humming softly, it sounded like Metallica.

Something told Sam that he was still asleep, that if he woke himself up he’d find himself in the hotel room wrapped around an unconscious Dean. This time he tried to reach out to Dean, to alert him that he was there with him, but before he could make contact he faded away once more.

~~~~

When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting on a lumpy bed in a crappy motel room, laptop balanced on his knees and books scattered around him. Dean was sitting opposite him at a table, sharpening knives, weapons scattered around him.

Sam didn’t try to interact with Dean this time, realizing that this wasn’t his to control. Instead he watched Dean from under his bangs, taking in everything.

This Dean was nothing like the shell of his brother he had found, ice cold and silent, withdrawn from the world. This Dean was more like the one he remembered from before, before the Demon, before their father’s death, before life and Sam stripped everything that Dean held dear to him.

He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his shirt and jacket slung carelessly on the other bed, and Sam could see the sculpted planes of his brother’s torso, his arms muscled but with a softer edge to them, nothing like the almost gaunt Dean from reality.

Everything made sense to Sam now. The others had said that they felt safe and happy, in a comfortable place where they didn’t care about reality. This was Dean’s comfortable place. Sam had expected it to be different from this, a nice house, Mom and Dad and Sam all there with him. But that wasn’t Dean’s safe place.

No, the one and only thing that Dean still related to comfort and safety was Sam.

The other thing he realized was that nothing he had seen involved hunting directly, sure, he was researching and Dean was detailing their weapons, but not one of the images he’d seen or been able to make out showed him and Dean actually fighting anything supernatural.

He must’ve made a noise at his realization, as Dean looked up from the whetstone and stared at him, concerned.

“You ‘kay Sammy?” he asked.

Without thinking, Sam replied “I’m fine Dean,” blinking in surprise when the scene didn’t fade away like every other time he had tried to interact with Dean.

“Whatcha looking at? Cos you don’t normally make noises like that doing research… or does Sammy have a new kink? Reading getting you hot huh? Do ya want some alone-time with ‘lil Sammy?” he asked, smirking.

Sam huffed in response, his eyes closing even as his heart tightened painfully at the banter. Dean could always be so damn infuriating… Sam had missed it so much.

Sam looked up at Dean before setting the laptop to the side.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered, settling on his knees at Sam’s feet so that he could look at Sam’s face. Sam felt himself break at the concern in the voice he’d missed so desperately, a traitorous tear escaping and sliding down his cheek.

“What’s wrong Sam?” Dean asked; voice full of concern for him.

Sam shook his head, overwhelmed by the sensation of Dean so close, he could see every last freckle on his face, hell even the room smelled like a million other motel rooms they’d been in, a mix of dust and cheap soap powder, mildew and sweat, overlaid by the smell of gun oil and smoke, with an undercurrent of Dean flowing through it all.

It was so tempting, so believable, that Sam could now understand why Dean would want to stay here.

“This isn’t real,” Sam whispered eventually, opening his eyes and looking down into Dean’s. Dean was kneeling on the floor between the two beds, looking up at Sam, his face a mask of confusion.

Dean shook his head and looked away, although whether it was in denial or disbelief, Sam wasn’t sure.

“You’re asleep Dean,” Sam told him, his voice matter of fact.

“I know that Sam,” Dean replied. “That’s what people do when they’re tired.”

Sam had no answer for that. He had still been stubbornly holding on to the hope that Missouri was wrong, that Dean had been unaware of the truth, that it was the spell holding his brother under still, not through his own choice.

“Dean…” Sam began, unsure how to even begin.

Dean stood up suddenly, turning and pacing back to his weapons, picking up one of the knives and twirling it mindlessly, so that he could pretend that he wasn’t listening to whatever Sam had to say to him.

Sam knew it for what it was though, it was meant as distraction, in the vain hope that Sam wouldn’t say what he was about to say, that he would be able to distract him enough that he’d change the subject, complain about Dean’s casual handling of the deadly weapon in his hands. But Sam wasn’t about to be put off now; that particular trick hadn’t worked on him since he was eleven.

“You need to wake up now Dean,” Sam began slowly. “Judith is gone; the spell is broken- it’s all over now.”

“S’never over,” Dean muttered, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb.

“Dean,” Sam sighed, sounding heartbroken.

“It just goes on and on and never ends. Same shit, different day, another motel, another job, salt and blood and death,” Dean carried on as if he hadn’t heard Sam. “Too quiet, don’t like the quiet,” he muttered, almost too low for Sam to catch.

“This is better,” Dean said finally, turning away from Sam.

“But it’s not real,” Sam answered.

“Real enough,” Dean replied. “Even got your whiny-ass bitch down,” he said. “If it was perfect you’d shut up and just sit there and research like a good geek boy,” he turned back to Sam. “Instead you sit there and tell me shit I don’t want to hear, just like the real Sam would.”

Sam blinked. Of course Dean didn’t think he was real- why would he think otherwise?

Rising, he crossed the room to stand behind Dean, watching as his brother’s shoulders tightened.

“I am the real Sam, Dean,” he whispered, reaching out to touch Dean to stop him from bolting.

Dean shook his head, darting nimbly out of Sam’s reach before he could make contact. “Not. Sammy’s gone. Got a real life now, doesn’t want me.”

Sam closed his eyes, feeling the pain wash through him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling his heart break a little more with Dean’s quiet declaration.

“I never wanted you to think that,” Sam spoke softly. “I just didn’t think you wanted me any more. You left me and took off, and I was in too much pain, too angry, too scared to even try and talk to you. Then later on, I was terrified that if I did call you wouldn’t pick up,” he admitted. “I couldn’t bear the thought that you wouldn’t answer if I called, and what that would mean. It would be like Dad all over again, only a million times worse, not knowing if you were alive and mad at me or dead and buried somewhere.”

Dean shook his head again and Sam blinked as the room around them vanished, replaced instead with a familiar-looking landscape. Sam had never been here, but he’d know it anywhere- it was kinda hard to miss.

He looked down gasped as he realized just how close to the edge they actually were.

Sam quickly took a couple of steps back, surprised when Dean didn’t even move. Instead, Dean’s eyes were locked on the horizon, and the imposing sight of the opposite side of the canyon, which was probably at least two miles away from where they stood.

“I’ve never been here before,” Sam breathed, in awe.

“Always wanted to see it,” Dean replied softly, his voice just barely audible. “Finally made it here a while back, did a job a coupla hundred miles from here and figured I was so close…” Sam saw him shrug.

“It’s breathtaking,” Sam whispered, staring out across the expanse.

“Always wanted to show it to you,” Dean admitted. He stepped away from the edge and spread his arms out in a ‘so here you go’ gesture as he turned back to face him.

“Wish we could see it for real,” Sam replied, returning his gaze to Dean.

Dean huffed, heading past Sam as he walked away from the cliff’s edge. Sam spun around to find him and saw the Impala parked about 10 feet away, black metal and chrome shining in the bright sunlight. Dean patted her hood before sitting down on it, watching Sam with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What’s it going to take to convince you?” Sam asked, walking over to join Dean, propping himself on the hood beside him, not quite touching.

“That you’re _real?_ ” Dean asked, his voice full of disdain. “You can’t.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean wasn’t finished speaking.

“You’re my Sammy, and you’re in my head, there’s nothing that I don’t know about you, so you can’t try and tell me something I don’t know, because I know everything. And the fact that you’re trying to convince me that you’re real is just par for the course,” he added.

“Sam always leaves me. Forcing me to wake up is just one more way of making sure that you can do it again,” he sighed and stood up, pacing a few feet away, keeping his back to Sam.

“Even when you’re thousands of miles away you’re still finding ways to leave me.”

Sam looked away from Dean then, unable to stand the defeated posture of his proud and strong brother. He’d been taller than Dean since he hit his last growth spurt at 15, but despite that he’d always felt dwarfed in his presence. But that Dean was gone, and in its place was a man who Sam didn’t know, a broken shell that he didn’t have the slightest clue how to even begin to fix.

In the beginning, just a few short days ago, Sam had thought that this would be simple, just find Dean and everything would be fine. Then once he found him and the hunt was over, it metamorphosed into finding a way to wake Dean up and everything would be fine. But seeing Dean like this, listening to him talk, watching him fade in on himself, even in this dream-reality of Dean’s own creation, Sam began to realize that waking Dean would be only the first step in getting his brother back.

Beside him Dean pushed off the car and walked back to the edge, standing much closer than Sam was comfortable with.

“Dean?” Sam started, standing up and taking a couple of paces towards his brother, concerned.

“I always wondered, y’know?” Dean spoke, almost to himself, eyes staring out across the canyon, but not really seeing anything.

“Wondered what, Dean?” Sam asked, taking another step towards him, putting him just out of arms length of Dean.

“What it would be like, to just let go. How it would feel to step out into nothingness. And if it would hurt when I hit the bottom, or if I’d be dead before I hit the ground?” he reached his arm out, as if reaching for the other side.

“The Dean I know would never give up like that,” Sam told him, his voice calm but his mind screaming at him.

“You don’t know me then,” Dean replied.

“You know what else I always wondered Sammy?” Dean asked, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Sam. The look on his face was calm, serene even… and that scared Sam more than anything else.

“No, what Dean?” Sam asked, even as he dreaded the answer.

“Whether if you die in a dream it means you really do die in reality,”

Dean hadn’t even finished speaking before Sam moved, closing the gap between them and jerking Dean back from the edge even as Dean took a step out into nothingness.


	7. Part Six

They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, Sam almost hyperventilating, holding Dean so tight that he thought he’d break his ribs, whilst Dean was lax in his grasp, barely moving, hardly breathing.

Dean felt… wrong, and Sam lifted his head to see that Dean had changed, gone was the strong, lean, unbreakable image of his brother, replaced by the tired and broken Dean that he had found in Judith’s basement.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam cried, shaking him, trying to make eye contact even as he felt his vision blur with tears.

Dean opened his eyes, blinking in confusion and Sam jerked as he felt the world surrounding them vanish, only for it to be replaced by nothing, everything around them dark like an afterimage, blurred and indistinct. Eventually it settled into a bare motel room, filled with nothing except two beds, a rickety table and a couple of chairs. It was dark, the only light coming from what looked like the moonlight creeping around the edge of the drawn curtains.

Sam and Dean were still in the same position as before, sprawled on the floor, the motel carpet scratchy and uncomfortable underneath them. Sam glanced around the room before standing, hauling Dean up and having to catch him as he almost collapsed back to the floor again, unable to hold himself up anymore.

“C’mon Dean,” Sam spoke softly, easing Dean down onto one of the beds.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered, lifting a shaking arm and reaching for Sam. Sam caught the hand in his own, pulling it to his chest.

“Dean,” Sam replied, squeezing his hand gently. He watched as Dean’s eyes widened with something akin to wonder, before Dean brought up his other hand to touch Sam’s face, his hair, his neck. Sam let him, suddenly realizing that in all of the time he’d been here in Dean’s dream world, Dean had never actually touched him.

“How…Wha?” he asked, looking around in confusion.

“I stopped you,” Sam replied gently, counting to ten and only making it to about three before exploding.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he yelled. “I don’t care if this is your brain, you can’t fucking jump off the edge of the Grand Canyon expect me to just stand and watch!”

Dean looked away from him, but didn’t answer. Instead he took in their surroundings properly before looking back at Sam.

“Where?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“I don’t know Dean, it’s your brain!” Sam told him, a hint of a laugh in his voice at the look on Dean’s face.

“Sammy?” Dean asked again, fisting his hand weakly in Sam’s T shirt again. Sam smiled, hearing the brittle edge of hope in Dean’s voice.

“Yes Dean, it’s me, I _swear._ ”

“How?” Dean questioned, letting his head flop back onto the pillow, too tired to hold it up any longer.

Sam took a deep breath and sighed. “Missouri called me,” he admitted, watching as Dean frowned.

“Shouldn’t have,” he replied petulantly, letting go of Sam and turning his head away to look at the wall.

Sam ignored the comment and continued, “She told me that you were missing. I got out here, found your notes, worked out what was really going on,” he threw a glare at Dean, which was lost because his brother still wasn’t looking at him. “I tracked down Judith, followed her, killed her and stopped the spell, then got you back to the motel.”

Dean turned his head and looked back at him, his eyes only half-open. “Then what?” he asked softly.

“Then I tried to wake you up,” Sam stated simply. “You still never do what I tell you to,” he added with a glare. “I was looking for a way to wake you up when I guess I fell asleep myself,” he finished, looking down at Dean.

“I don’t know how I managed to end up in your dream,” he admitted, “but I’ve been having flashes of strange dreams for days, nothing specific, not like this, just this warm and protected feeling… Safe.”

Sam shook his head, frowning. “I’ve not had a vision since we ended it, but it’s almost like you were reaching out to me, I just couldn’t recognize it for what it was.”

Dean turned his head and looked back at Sam, not saying anything, just studying his face.

“You know this sounds like some crappy lifetime movie dontcha?” Dean asked. “He was in my dreams, there for me whenever I closed my eyes,” he spoke, his voice high pitched and sarcastic.

Sam rolled his eyes, but broke into a small smile. “Dean, can you be serious about this, please?” he asked, frustration bubbling up once more.

Dean rolled his eyes back but settled down, shutting his eyes and resting his head back on the pillow.

Sam sighed heavily, his head dropping onto his chin.

“Whaddya want me to say Sam?” Dean asked; his voice hoarse. “You’ve been having weird dreams but didn’t think anything of it; didn’t even realize anything was wrong until Missouri told you, so you come out here and find me… wonderful, great. Now what do you expect? Sunshine and roses?”

Sam looked down at Dean, whose eyes were now open and staring back up at him.

“You expected me to be the same as I was the last time you saw me maybe? That nothing would have changed? Dean fucked up again, so I’d better go save his ass and then I’ll have a clear conscience to go back to my apple pie life and won’t have to worry about him again for at least another four years, right?” Dean asked bitterly. “World doesn’t work like that Sam.”

“I know that Dean,” Sam broke in, “It’s not that I expected you to be the same, okay, well I did… it’s just,” he sighed heavily, “you’re Dean,” he finished lamely.

Dean snorted, but otherwise kept silent.

“You’ve always been there for me man, even if I didn’t know it, or didn’t want to know it. Forgive me if I’ve got a bit of a mental block when it comes to you,” he groused.

“Yeah, well,” Dean replied lamely.

The brothers trailed off into silence, Dean shutting his eyes as if he was shutting the world out again, and Sam watching Dean’s chest rise and fall gently with every breath.

Eventually Sam couldn’t take the silence anymore and spoke.

“Dean? What are we gonna do?” he asked softly.

Dean didn’t open his eyes, but Sam watched his brow crease into a frown.

“Dean? C’mon man, I mean it. I know you hate it, but we need to talk,” Sam pressed.

“Sammy,” Dean groaned, discomfort obvious on his face. If he’d been able to get up and walk more than two steps without collapsing Sam was sure Dean would be out of the room by now. He blinked. Or he would, had this all been real.

Damn, even he was starting to feel the edges that reminded him of the difference between reality and this dream-construct blur.

“Dean, I mean it. You can’t stay here like this, it’ll kill you,” Sam pleaded.

Dean turned his head away again, his eyes not opening.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, gripping Dean’s upper arms and shaking him a little. “You don’t want to stay here!”

“Why not?” Dean asked. “Give me one good reason why I have to wake up, why I can’t just rest” he added.

He shook off Sam’s arms and managed to pull himself upright, leaning back against the headboard and letting that support most of his weight.

Sam leaned forward to fuss with the pillow and make him more comfortable, but Dean pushed him off weakly with a fondly annoyed mutter of “Samantha.”

Sitting at roughly the same level now, rather than staring up at his little brother, Dean stared at Sam and waited for him to speak.

“How about because I need you?” Sam asked softly.

Dean snorted. “You’ve managed fine without me for this long; you can’t use that one anymore. You lost that right a long time ago.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, completely lost for words in the face of Dean’s vehemence.

“You’re still my brother Dean,” he replied softly.

“Only when it suits you,” Dean shot back. “The rest of the time I don’t even exist, do I? How many people in your real life know about me huh? Did you even mention that you had a brother this time? Or was I erased from your life as easily as all that?”

“Dean I never… you left _me,_ ” he answered, feeling his own anger rise.

“I remember you dragging me out of the building; I remember sensing that you were near me in the hospital… then nothing. You left me with nothing except a coupla hundred bucks and Dad’s body! So excuse the fuck outta me if I got the impression you didn’t want me around,” he yelled, rising off of the bed and pacing rather than giving into the urge to just beat some sense into Dean instead.

“Yeah, well I remember; ‘You’ve gotta let me go Dean’ and ‘I’m not going to do this forever’ and ‘This won’t be my life, I won’t let it,’” Dean shot back. “You made it abundantly clear that you didn’t want this, that you didn’t want me,” he shouted. “So I did the only thing I could do- I walked away from you so that you could have that life. So you didn’t have to explain me away to anyone, so that you could live that apple pie and picket fence life. I was just holding you back from that- you told me often enough. So why stick around when all you were going to do was end up resenting me for stopping all those dreams of yours from coming true?”

“Jesus Dean,” Sam sighed, all the fight draining out of him as fast as it had come. “Was that what you really thought?” he flopped back down on the bed, sitting by Dean’s legs.

“I didn’t want to lose you, you were all I had left!” he shook his head and reached for Dean’s arm, grounding himself with his brother’s presence. “I’ve missed you every fucking day. I kept waiting for you to show back up and take me away with you. Hell, I didn’t leave that fucking town for two months after I got out of the hospital, just so you’d know where to find me. Eventually I assumed that you wanted me out of your life, so I let you be and didn’t try to find you, figuring that if you wanted to you’d find me anyway… and now I find out that this whole time you’ve been waiting for me to find you,” he shook his head.

“You never wondered?” Dean asked, “You never thought to yourself ‘I wonder what Dean’s doing, if he’s okay? Maybe I should give him a call and make sure… or call Missouri or someone and ask?”

“Only every day,” Sam admitted. “But I was mad as hell at you for leaving me, and by the time I’d calmed down and you didn’t show I guessed it was too late and you wouldn’t talk to me even if I called, and I didn’t want to hear it from anyone else y’know,” he shook his head. “I didn’t want to hear it from anyone that you’d told them not to tell me where you were, or what you were doing. Or worse, that they hadn’t heard from you at all, and had no idea where you were…” he admitted. He lifted his head and looked at Dean. “You didn’t ever come and find me in Cali? Check up on me?”

Dean looked at him like he was crazy, “Whadda you think Sam?”

“Fucking hell, Dean,” Sam sighed, slumping back on the bed, ending up lying lengthways across it. He raised his arm and slung it over his eyes, blocking the light and Dean’s gaze from his face.

He felt Dean moving around a little and managed not to jump when he felt Dean’s hand on his arm. Dean shifted again, and when Sam lifted his arm enough to peek out from underneath it, Dean was now lying on his stomach, face close to Sam’s.

“Missed you,” Sam muttered softly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, Sam recognizing it as Deanspeak for 'I missed you too.'

Sam rolled onto his side to face Dean, and they lay staring at each other for a few moments.

“Dean?” Sam whispered eventually.

“I know Sammy,” Dean replied. “I’ll try, okay?”

Sam nodded and looked at Dean again.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked.

Dean’s lips curved into what passed for a smile. “That’s all relative I think.” He looked at Sam. “Guide me back?” he asked, “It’s been a while and I don’t know if I still know the way.”

“How do you expect me to do that?” Sam asked, confused.

“You’re the College Boy,” Dean shot back, even as both he and the room started to fade, leaving Sam in nothing but darkness. “You figure it out!”

~~~~

Sam blinked in the darkness, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light in the room. Everything came back to him in a rush, and he rolled over and sat up fast, fighting off the nausea as he moved too quickly, before turning and facing Dean… who was still lying in exactly the same position as he had before, unmoving.

“Dammit Dean!” Sam muttered. “You promised.”

He sighed and slumped back down, his hand brushing against Dean’s side. He suddenly stopped stock still as he thought he heard Dean make a sound.

“Dean?” Sam called softly, briefly touching Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s brow creased for a moment before smoothing out again.

Encouraged, Sam tried calling him again, but this time he gained no response. Frowning, Sam reached out and touched the back of his hand against Dean’s forehead, as if checking for a temperature, and was startled when Dean responded by shifting on the bed slightly, as if trying to roll towards Sam.

Sam wanted to kick himself for not realizing how Dean needed him to guide him back straight away, and he slipped back down on the bed, throwing an arm across Dean’s torso and pulling him closer to ground him back to reality with physical contact.

“C’mon Dean,” Sam whispered into his brother’s hair as he watched and felt Dean start to move restlessly, able to see his eyeballs moving rapidly under cover of his eyelids.

He twisted his body enough to get his other arm free, and he immediately wrapped his fingers in Dean’s hair, holding his head gently as Dean began to moan and thrash slightly.

“Open your eyes Dean,” Sam urged, “C’mon, I’m right here, just like I promised, now wake up!”

“Demanding ‘lil bitch,” Dean muttered quietly, stilling in Sam’s arms before cracking open his eyes just a little.

“Dude? Are we hugging?” he asked, incredulous. “Samantha,” he muttered, trying and failing to twist out of Sam’s hold.

“Jerk,” Sam muttered back, the relief evident in his voice.

“Bitch,” Dean replied automatically, the response mostly drowned out by a massive yawn.

Finally, Dean opened his eyes fully and rolled over to face Sam. Neither of them had a clue what to say to each other, so instead they lay there, each waiting for the other to speak.

“Dean,” “Sam,” they both spoke at the same time, which made them both crack a smile.

Dean nodded for Sam to go first.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam whispered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat that threatened to steal his voice.

Dean blinked at Sam, his eyes suspiciously bright, even in the dark of the room, but he didn’t speak, instead nodding his head a little. Sam also noticed that Dean didn’t try to move away from him again, which he took as a small victory.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was so hoarse that Sam couldn’t help but wince.

Dean lifted his arm and reached out to Sam, fisting his hand in Sam’s t-shirt so hard that his knuckles turned white. Sam moved his hand to cover Dean’s, recognizing his brother’s need to understand that Sam really was there for himself.

“I’m here Dean,” Sam promised, squeezing Dean’s fingers for a moment before loosening his grip.

“Is this real?” Dean asked, wincing at the pain in his throat. Sam nodded, tightening his arm around Dean’s waist for a moment before he moved to sit up, but was stopped by Dean, who refused to loosen his grip. Instead Sam sat up enough to lean against the headboard, helping Dean to sit up as well before reaching over his forgotten cup of coffee for a bottle of water.

He twisted the cap off and held it out for Dean, frowning as he saw how badly Dean’s hand was shaking. He insisted on helping Dean bring the bottle to his lips, realizing that it was the only way to ensure that the water went down Dean’s throat, and not his front.

Dean drank the water like a man who’d been lost in the desert for a week, and Sam startled as he realized that it was essentially true.

He let Dean down about half of the bottle before tugging it away from his lips and pulling the bottle gently from Dean’s grasp. Dean complained, but Sam just shook his head.

“If you drink too much, too fast it’ll just make you sick,” he told Dean, setting the bottle back on the nightstand.

“Coffee?” Dean asked, turning pleading eyes on Sam. Sam shook his head and opened the nightstand drawer, pushing aside the bible to pull out all of the fast food menus that were stashed underneath.

“Maybe later,” Sam conceded. “Right now let’s just get some food into you, okay?” he said, flipping through the pages.

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, not protesting even when Sam threatened to call in an order that didn’t include anything remotely unhealthy.

By the time the food arrived, Dean had regained some of his color, but Sam was still concerned. Dean was too quiet. He watched Sam move around the room, putting things away and generally tidying up, starting the coffee ready for later on. When Sam had announced he was going to go next door and bring his stuff into this room instead, Dean had nodded, still not saying a word, but when Sam had returned less than five minutes later, Dean had been staring blankly at the door with dull eyes, as if he’d slipped back into his own mind again.

That had scared Sam badly enough that he had dropped his stuff on the floor and rushed over to Dean, who didn’t react at all until Sam touched him, when he flinched away hard, as if he didn’t even register Sam’s presence until they made contact.

Dean had waved it off, refusing to answer any of Sam’s questions, simply shrugging and looking away when Sam had asked him outright what had happened.

The knock on the door had saved Dean from any more of Sam’s questions, and by the time Sam had paid for the food and closed the door behind the delivery guy, Dean’s walls were all firmly back in place.

And twenty minutes later Sam had more pressing things to worry about.

He hadn’t eaten anything for hours himself, and so he had settled down at the foot of the bed, cartons of food between him and Dean. It had taken him a while, but once his body had stopped screaming at him to eat something, he had slowly noticed Dean.

His brother had always attacked his food with abandon, demolishing food like he was on a mission to consume as many calories in as short a time span as was humanly possible… or faster.

But now? Dean was just picking at his food. Despite his earlier threat, Sam had ordered pretty much all of Dean’s favorites, but instead of tearing into them like he usually did, Sam watched as Dean poked at the egg drop soup, swirling it around in the container and only occasionally taking small sips, shooting surreptitious glances at Sam every now and then.

He debated whether or not to say anything to Dean, but decided against confrontation- it was a sure-fire way to get Dean’s hackles up, and he’d never get any answers that way. Instead he put down his now empty carton of Beef with Broccoli and reached for the General Tso’s still sitting untouched on the bed.

Any other time, Dean would have been rapping Sam across the back of his knuckles with his chopsticks, defending it to the death rather than let Sam get a look in. Dad had always had to make sure to order at least two in the past, because there was no getting between Dean and his General Tso’s. But this time Dean didn’t even blink as Sam picked it up and started digging in, even when Sam made obnoxious and melodramatic noises of pleasure when he took the first bite.

Sam put the carton back down, his appetite suddenly gone and stared at Dean, who was looking down at his food like it held the answers to the universe.

“Dean?” Sam spoke softly, reaching out a hand and settling it on Dean’s wrist to stop him swirling his soup.

Dean startled at his touch, and a little bit of the lukewarm liquid slopped over his hand. Sam cursed and moved, grabbing a couple of napkins and handing them to Dean with one hand, the other taking the container from him and setting it on the nightstand.

He watched as Dean looked at the napkins for a second before absentmindedly wiping his hand. When he’d finished Sam took the napkins from him and threw them in the general direction of the trash can, not bothering to look and see if they landed anywhere near.

“Talk to me, man,” Sam urged gently, fingers itching to reach out and touch his brother again, to reassure them both that he was real, that this was real. The only thing that stopped him was the look in Dean’s eyes, the look that told him his touch wasn’t wanted right now, that it was too much, and Dean was only just barely hanging on to the edge as it was.

Dean sighed and looked back down at his hands again, squeezing them both into fists before relaxing them again, picking at the covers on the bedspread instead.

“I know it’s hard,” Sam started again, trying to get Dean to open up a little.

“You don’t have a freakin’ clue!” Dean told him. From the look on his face he’d meant to yell at Sam, but his voice just wasn’t up to it and it came out hoarse and broken.

“Then tell me!” Sam replied, managing to keep his own voice level, just about.

Dean looked away again, unwilling to meet Sam’s eyes, and he seemed to shrink in on himself again. Sam quickly dumped the remaining cartons of food on the floor and moved closer to Dean, sensing that he needed to breakthrough Dean’s walls, and soon.

Dean flinched away again as Sam got near, but Sam’s hand resting on the covers over his knee stopped him and he looked up at Sam again, and the look in his eyes just about killed Sam.

“I can’t,” Dean answered, bringing his hands up to rub at his face, covering his eyes.

“I’m here Dean,” Sam spoke softly, trying not to antagonize Dean any further.

“For how long?” Dean’s voice came back, muffled by his hands still over his face.

“As long as you need,” Sam replied.

Dean snorted and didn’t answer.

“I mean it Dean,” he tried again. “I’m not going to leave you alone again, I promise.”

Dean moved his hands down so that his eyes were uncovered, but his mouth was still hidden. The look that Dean gave him made the lump in Sam’s throat suddenly feel the size of Texas. Dean had never been a man of many words when they were growing up, something Dad had once said was a throwback to the time after their Mother’s death, but he could say a lot without ever opening his mouth, if you knew how to translate him, and Sam had once been the best at speaking that language.

He was more than a little out of practice now, but he knew enough to understand that something had been broken between them and it would take more than a few promises to fix, if it ever could be fixed. He thought back to Missouri’s warning not to make any promises he wasn’t willing to keep and swallowed hard.

He knew what he had to do; now he just had to be prepared to back up his words with actions- the only thing that Dean had ever responded to. In his life Dean had been promised things too many times, only for those promises to be broken, each time taking a little part of Dean’s belief with them, until he learned to only ever trust in things that he could see and experience for himself.

Sam, on the other hand, had been largely protected from that by his big brother, who refused to let his Sammy get tainted by his own cynicism, never making any promises to his younger brother that he didn’t keep, no matter what it took. It wasn’t until they were both older, and their Dad started taking them both out on hunts, that Sam had begun to learn just how little promises meant coming from other people, everyone except for Dean.

In the end, when Sam had finally left for Stanford, Dean had promised to call his brother every week to let him know that he was okay. After two years, Sam had begun to dread the stilted and almost painful conversations with his brother, and had asked Dean not to contact him anymore.

Dean had promised and hung up the phone, and Sam hadn’t heard from Dean again for another two years, not until John had gone missing and Dean was desperate enough to break his promise to his brother.

Words weren’t going to cut it; Sam was going to have to show Dean that he meant what he said, and that was going to take time and patience, something Sam hoped that he had enough of, because this wasn’t going to be easy.

But for now, he needed to get his priorities in order, and first on that list was making sure that Dean got back up to full strength.

“I know you don’t believe me Dean.” Sam began, making sure to keep his eyes locked on Dean’s. “There are a lot of things that we’re going to have to work out before we can even start to get past all of this,” he stopped again, reading the expression in Dean’s eyes as ‘you’re telling me!’

“But Dean,” he continued carefully, “we’ll make it okay again, I swear. We’re both too stubborn to let anything get in our way of something we both want, and right now? I want my big brother back, and I want to get to know him all over again, and I hope that he wants the same thing too…” he trailed off, waiting for Dean.

Dean stared at him for a few minutes, time that seemed to stretch out forever as he ran everything that Sam had said to him through his head, picking it apart and looking for any hint of a lie in there. Eventually he looked back at Sam and simply nodded.

Sam broke out into a wide grin at that, but decided not to push any further tonight. Instead he reached over and grabbed Dean’s soup, handing it back to him. Dean took it without complaint, and Sam felt a little piece of something like happiness fall back into place when he watched Dean swirl the soup around once before lifting it to his lips and taking a large swallow.

The war was by no means over, and the battle was barely begun, but Sam was patient, and every single success buoyed his belief. He’d make it okay again, he’d make _them_ okay again.


	8. Part Seven

Sam awoke the next morning, rolling over and opening his eyes with a yawn. His sleep-blurred gaze fell on the empty bed beside him and he shot upright, startled.

He looked around the room and stopped, letting out a sigh of relief when he found Dean sitting at the table, flicking through his journal, pen in hand.

“Morning Dean,” Sam greeted him with a smile. “You’re up early,” he added.

“Been asleep long enough dontcha think?” Dean replied, not looking up, scribbling something down in the journal.

Sam didn’t answer him, throwing the covers back and swinging his legs out of bed, standing a little unsteadily and heading for the bathroom.

He emerged a few minutes later to find Dean still sitting at the table, although it looked like Dean had turned the chair slightly so that he could see the bathroom from where he was sitting.

Sam didn’t mention it, instead heading for his duffel, digging around until he found clean clothes.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he told Dean, heading back for the bathroom.

He turned back to shut the door behind him, not surprised to see Dean watching him, as if he was still afraid to blink in case Sam disappeared.

He frowned, trying to think of a way to reassure Dean, but all he kept coming up with was to give Dean more time.

He decided against using up all the hot water and the towels, but he did make sure to use all the larger towels, leaving Dean with the smallest ones - younger brother’s prerogative.

He opened the door less than 10 minutes later, still scrubbing at his hair with the towel, exiting the room and smiling at Dean before throwing the towel back into the room to land in the sink.

“All yours, man,” he told him, still not mentioning that he’d seen Dean turn away from the door when he’d opened it again.

Dean nodded but made no move to get up, still twirling the pen in one hand as he watched Sam put his dirty laundry back in his duffel.

Sam fiddled with the zip for a minute before turning back to Dean, sitting on the bed and aiming for casual.

“You don’t wanna shower?” Sam asked when Dean still made no move for the bathroom.

Dean didn’t answer, pretending to be engrossed in the journal, but Sam had already seen it when he’d crossed the room and knew the page Dean was staring at was blank.

“Dean?” he called a little louder, starting to get concerned when Dean jumped.

Dean looked up at him, blinking slowly, and Sam stood, heading over to the table.

“You okay?” he asked, settling a hand on Dean’s shoulder for a moment.

“I’m fine Sam,” Dean answered finally, standing on shaky legs and heading for the bathroom, closing the door behind himself quietly.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Sam muttered to the empty room.

He listened as the shower clicked on and sighed heavily, trying to work out what they were going to do now. They couldn’t stay here in case the police managed to connect them to the fire after all and came around asking questions they didn’t have answers for.

At the same time Sam knew Dean wasn’t anywhere near ready for another hunt, and he himself wasn’t exactly ready either. Up until last night he hadn’t even picked up a weapon for the last few years, and he’d survived last night more by luck than judgment, mainly because Judith had made the mistake of thinking him subdued by her attack and had stepped into his knife range.

No, neither of them was in any condition to be hunting, so the immediate plan was just to get the hell outta Dodge, and then he could plan on what to do next.

He stood still for a moment, frowning at the sounds coming from the bathroom, or rather, the lack of sounds. He could still hear the shower, but the water was only hitting the bathtub, as if Dean hadn’t gotten in yet.

He fought the urge to run straight over there and pound on the door, to make sure that Dean wasn’t lying unconscious on the floor.

The dull sound of water hitting tub was taunting him however, and he turned back to the bathroom, taking one step towards it before stopping himself again.

“Dammit!” he swore, looking away from the bathroom door. His eyes fell on Dean’s bag, still sitting on the floor where he’d left it last night after tidying up. Dean hadn’t taken any clean clothes in with him. So Sam could be a helpful little brother and take some in for him right?

Nodding to himself, Sam strode over to the bag, picking it up and quickly pulling out some clean-looking clothes, knocking once lightly on the bathroom door before opening it and poking his head through the gap.

Dean was leaning against the sink, his t-shirt lying at his feet, staring at the mirror. But he wasn’t looking at himself, he seemed to be staring through his own reflection, as if focusing at a point somewhere beyond it.

Sam slipped into the room and set the clothes down before stepping up behind Dean and leaning ever so slightly against him.

“Dean?” he called, watching as Dean’s eyes snapped back into focus, looking at himself before catching Sam’s reflection in the mirror.

“Sammy,” Dean replied. His voice sounded flat and tired.

“C’mon man, let’s get you in the shower before all the hot water’s gone, yeah?” he spoke softly, watching Dean’s face for acceptance before reaching a hand under the spray to make sure that it was still what passed for hot in this place.

Reassured that it wasn’t too cold, Sam eased Dean’s boxers off of his hips and steered him into the bath and under the spray, handing him the soap and a washcloth before stepping back.

“You okay from here man?” he asked, watching as Dean rubbed the soap onto the cloth before dragging it over his skin.

Dean just nodded, and Sam turned away, satisfied. “I’ll leave the door open, so just yell if you need a hand,” he continued, picking up Dean’s dirty clothes. “I’m just going to finish packing up all of our stuff and see if any of the food from last night is still edible okay?” he kept speaking, loudly enough that Dean would be able to hear him, even if he couldn’t make out the actual words Sam was saying.

“Dude, I’m starving,” he kept up his commentary, as he worked, systematically removing every trace of them from the room, just as he’d done a million times before. The routine of it was almost calming. “You must be too right?” he added, “You didn’t eat a lot, so you must be ready for some food. We’ll have this for now and we can find a diner somewhere to get some pancakes or something. I could kill for some blueberry pancakes and syrup right about now. Man, I’m making myself hungrier just by thinking about it. A nice big stack of pancakes, absolutely smothered in syrup, just how we like ‘em eh?” he kept going, lowering his voice as he heard the shower turn off and no longer needed to talk over the spray.

“I was thinking that we could get going early, get a few hours between us and this place, and then we can find somewhere to stop for food, then get back on the road, whaddya think?” he asked, turning and finding Dean standing in the bathroom doorway, his jeans slung low on his hips, barely staying up, even with his belt tightened to the last notch.

Sam walked over to him and took the towel he was holding out of his hand, rubbing it briskly across Dean’s skin and hair, which was still glistening with water, realizing that Dean wasn’t going to argue with him. Something in Sam yearned Dean to be the pain in the ass older brother he knew and loved again.

Sam stepped away and Dean shrugged into his t-shirt, taking the button down Sam handed him and sliding that on too before allowing Sam to steer him back to the table, where Sam handed him a container of food and some chopsticks before walking away and fixing him a cup of coffee and setting that in front of him as well.

Dean looked at the cup and then up at Sam, and the brief look of gratitude he sent him made Sam smile, relieved.

“So I need to drop the rental off, you want to finish breakfast and then we can check out and you can follow me?” he asked.

Dean looked up at him, studying Sam’s face for a moment before nodding.

“You’d better eat up then,” he continued. “The sooner we can get out of here the better, just in case any of the cops checked too closely into the guy’s stories. I’m probably being paranoid, but better safe than sorry yeah?” he finished, digging into his own leftover food and watching as Dean blinked at him again before nodding slightly and looking back down at his food.

At least he was eating a little more this morning, Sam thought. Although it was still a tiny amount considering how much Dean usually packed away.

He turned away from Dean, not wanting to crowd him or make him self-conscious of eating and finished packing away the rest of their stuff, until there was just Dean’s journal and both of their jackets left out, everything else packed in their bags, ready to go.

Satisfied, Sam made himself a cup of coffee and set a second box of Chinese on the table in front of Dean, taking another for himself.

He dug in, finding that the food was still pretty good, even cold.

Dean set his container back on the table and cupped the coffee in his hands, a small, contented smile on his face as he took a sip. Sam hid a frown behind a mouthful of food as he saw that Dean hadn’t finished the first container of food yet, but schooled his features when Dean looked at him.

A glance at the clock reminded him that he didn’t have the time to try and make Dean eat anything else now, unless he wanted to shell out on another day’s rental on the car.

Dean finished his coffee before standing and taking the cup over to the coffee machine, topping it up and draining it almost immediately before setting it on the side.

Sam dug the last few noodles out of his carton before setting it down on the table, looking at Dean and raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t you want anything more to eat?” he asked, careful to keep any judgment out of his voice.

Dean looked between Sam and the food before shaking his head.

Sam was beginning to find this quiet-Dean a little unnerving, but he tried hard not to let it show as he stood up and threw his empty container into the trash.

“Wanna take it with us in case you get hungry later on?” he asked.

Dean walked over to the table and picked up the Chinese, turning and walking back to the trash can and dumping it in.

‘Obviously not,’ Sam thought.

“You ready then?” he asked, picking up his jacket and slipping it on.

Dean nodded and picked up his own jacket, patting the pockets for his keys.

“Oh! Here,” Sam jumped, pulling the keys out of his jeans pocket and tossing them at Dean.

Dean wasn’t fast enough, and the keys hit him on the chest before falling to the floor.

“Sorry man,” Sam apologized, again hiding his concern about Dean’s slow reactions.

He pulled the rental keys out of his coat pocket and grabbed his duffel and both sets of motel room keys, before opening the door to check the outside was clear and walking out, followed by Dean.

He opened the door to the rental and threw his bag inside before looking up and finding Dean staring at him.

“I figured I’d just swap all of my crap over to the Impala when we took the car back, okay?”

Dean nodded slowly before opening the back door of the Impala and throwing his bag onto the backseat.

“I’m going to check us both out,” Sam added, taking a step towards the office.

He turned away from Dean and walked the few feet to the office, feeling Dean’s eyes on him the whole way.

He opened the door, letting it shut behind him before turning and looking back out of the small window. Dean had taken a few steps after him, and was currently standing in the open, looking torn between waiting for him outside, and following him in.

It didn’t take long to check out, but it was still a relief for Sam when he was able to open the door and head back outside to where Dean was waiting.

Dean had moved back to the cars, and was leaning against the driver’s side door of the rental, trying and failing to look casual.

Sam smiled the reassuring smile that he was already beginning to detest and walked over to him.

“All done,” Sam told him, turning to lean against the car beside Dean, just close enough that Dean could feel him, and Sam saw Dean’s face relax fractionally at the contact.

“We’ve just gotta drop the car back to the nearest rental place, then we can get out of here,” Sam reminded him again. Dean looked at him and nodded, but didn’t say anything else.

“If you follow me, it shouldn’t take too long,” he added.

Sam nudged Dean’s leg with his and grinned at him. “Another hour or so and you’ll be stuck with me- bet you’ll end up wishing that I kept the rental in two hours or less!”

That got a half-grin out of Dean, the sight of which made Sam feel like he’d just won the lottery.

They moved then, Dean heading back to the Impala and opening the door to get in. Sam opened the rental’s door and stopped. “Hey Dean?” he called, waiting until Dean looked up at him. “Does this mean that I get to pick the music?”

Dean shot him a look and let out a huffed laugh before shaking his head and getting in the car.

“Is that a yes?” Sam asked loudly, his voice drowned out by the growl of the Impala’s engine starting up.

Sam got in the rental and started it up, backing it out of the parking space and heading towards the exit of the lot, waiting there until Dean pulled up behind him. He pulled smoothly onto the road, Dean following closely.

As he’d predicted, the traffic was pretty light, and they made good time. At one point Sam had briefly considered calling Dean on his cell, just so that he could talk to him, but decided against it, because the only conversation topics he could think of really needed to be done face to face.

Instead he spent the time trying to work out what he was going to do next. It was all well and good getting in the Impala and driving off, but they’d need a destination eventually, and the list of safe places they could go was few and far between.

They could hole up in a hotel in Bumfuck, Nowhere, sure, but Sam felt that they’d need to be somewhere that Dean could relax and not have to worry.

Eventually, he’d given Missouri a call, to see if she could help. She told him to try Bobby. After making sure the number he had still worked, Sam hung up, promising to keep in contact with her.

He took a deep breath and dialed the number quickly before he lost his nerve. Bobby had always been good to both he and Dean in the past, but he had a protective streak a mile wide, and had always looked out for Dean when no-one else, including he and Dad, did. So he felt he was right to worry what Bobby was going to say to him when he picked up.

“Singer’s Salvage,” the gruff voice came through on the line.

“Bobby?” Sam began, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It’s Sam,” he added, before adding as an afterthought “Winchester.”

“Sam?” Bobby replied, the surprise clear in his voice. “Holy hell boy, what are ya doing calling?” he asked. “Not that it’s not great to hear from ya, but it’s been…”

“Years,” Sam finished for him. “Yeah I know, I’m sorry Bobby,” he added.

“Not me you need to apologize to boy,” Bobby told him. “Save that for your brother,” there was a pause before Bobby continued. “I don’t know why you’re calling here Sam, but if you’re looking for Dean, I haven’t spoken to him in a couple of months, so I can’t help you.”

Sam shook his head, even though Bobby couldn’t see him. “No Bobby, that’s not why. I’m with Dean now,” he added. “We need a safe place, out of the way for a few days,” he explained. “Look, I don’t really have time to explain, but Dean needs somewhere to recover from the last hunt, and Missouri said to ask you,”

“Just the last hunt?” Bobby asked; accusation implicit in his voice.

Sam shook his head again, half in frustration “I know what you’re thinking Bobby, and you’re right, it is Dean I owe the apologies to, but at the moment? I just need to get him well again. He nearly… I almost lost…” Sam broke off, unable to continue speaking through the lump in his throat.

Bobby sighed heavily on the other end of the line and silence crackled between them for a few seconds.

“He alright?” Bobby asked finally.

“Not really,” Sam responded dully. “He’s fine, if you ask him of course, but he’s not up to mammoth road trips- or hunting, at the moment,” Sam frowned, spotting that he was close to the exit they needed.

“Look Bobby, sorry, but I’m short on time right now. If you want the details ask Missouri, she knows everything, but right now I’ve got to get my rental back and then I’m getting into the Impala with Dean and starting on a Winchester family road trip. It would be better if I had somewhere safe to take him, rather than relying on crappy motels and diner food,” he added with a frown. “If you know somewhere…”

On the other end Bobby cut in “Alright, alright- I know a few places. Where are you?”

Sam told him and Bobby laughed. “You’re in luck boy,” he told Sam. “There’s a place a few hundred miles from you, it’s used by hunters who are passing through, but it’s empty at the moment. You should be okay there for a few days.”

Sam felt the relief slam through him, at last something was starting to go their way. Bobby gave him basic directions to the cabin, with instructions to call when he was closer and he’d guide him in.

After he hung up it didn’t take that long to reach the rental place, Dean following behind.

Dean pulled into the lot and parked beside him, and then transferred all of Sam’s stuff into the Impala while Sam headed into the office to sign the paperwork. He watched Dean from inside, seeing as he leaned back against the trunk of the Impala.

Dean was going for the casual look, and failing miserably. His appearance was still rough and ragged, and it looked like the trunk was the only thing stopping him from falling to the ground.

By the time he was finished Sam just wanted to get out of there, and he burst out of the office and hurried over to Dean with a grin on his face that Dean returned. It wasn’t quite Dean’s megawatt grin that Sam was used to, it was a pale imitation really, but it still heartened Sam to see it.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Dean shot him a look and didn’t bother answering, heading for the driver’s door. Sam caught his wrist, stopping him.

“Can I drive?” he asked, carefully.

Dean looked at him, stopping short at the tone in Sam’s voice that he couldn’t quite place.

“C’mon man, I’ve missed it. Hell, I even dreamed of her for a while,” he added, hoping that Dean wouldn’t push him any further as to his reasons for wanting to drive.

Dean stared at him for a little longer before nodding and handing the keys over. “Sure Sam,” he replied huskily, watching Sam wrap his fingers around the keys before brushing past Sam on his way to the passenger’s side.

Sam gripped the keys and got into the car, grinning at Dean as he put the key into the ignition before starting the car and pulling out of the lot. Now they could finally start to put the whole event in the rear view mirror and leave it behind.


	9. Part Eight

Several hours and a few stops later, Sam pulled up to the cabin Bobby had directed him to. Dean had fallen asleep in the passenger’s seat a hundred miles back, but the rough track leading up to the cabin had woken him, although he was still half asleep and grumpy.

Not that Sam minded, because that was better than the forced silence that he’d had to endure the rest of the trip.

It had taken Dean about an hour to realize that Sam wasn’t just driving aimlessly, that he had an actual location in mind and from then on he became a pain in the ass, trying to find out where they were going.

Eventually Sam had caved and explained about the cabin, which only served to piss Dean off more, although it seemed mainly because Sam had made the mistake of mentioning Bobby’s name. Dean was angry that Sam had spoken to him and even slightly inferred that Dean was in anything but top condition, not wanting to appear weak in Bobby’s eyes.

Dean had then subjected Sam to a mixture of the silent treatment and death glares, with the odd pointed comment thrown in. At first, Sam was happy that Dean was talking at all, even if it was just to bitch at him. But after several hours of it, including a memorable stop at a diner for lunch and a trip to a supermarket, they had finally arrived.

The cabin itself wasn’t fancy, just a kitchen/diner, two bedrooms and a bathroom, but it was clean and the roof didn’t leak, so that put it up there with palatial accommodation in Sam’s book. What it lacked in size, it more than made up for in other ways though.

Because it was used by hunters regularly, it had some of the strongest protections already in place, so other than putting down a fresh layer of salt, there was very little else that needed to be done in that respect.

It had hot and cold running water and two generators, one a back-up in case the other failed, and it also had a large fireplace in the living area, with an ample supply of cut logs and kindling ready to go.

Best of all, as far as Sam was concerned, were the bedrooms. Although the rooms themselves were small, each contained a kingsize bed, large enough for him to sprawl out on without his feet hanging off the end. A simple pleasure maybe, but for Sam, it had been a while since he’d had to put up with the delights of long days in the cramped Impala and tiny motel room beds, so this was a luxury he was determined to appreciate.

He’d dumped his stuff on his bed and gone back out to the car, making another trip with the groceries, dropping them all off on the kitchen counter before making a third and final trip to the Impala for the salt.

He popped the trunk quietly, lifting up to reveal the compartment and frowning as he saw the state of the inside.

Some of the weapon racks were empty, some of the ordinance was just dropped haphazardly in the bottom compartments, and Sam could see just how low Dean was on certain items. He tried to convince himself that Dean was just about to head for a restock, but found that he couldn’t fool even himself of that anymore. Instead all he saw in front of him was the image of a brother who felt that he no longer had anything to fight for.

He had to distract himself from this, because having those kinds of maudlin thoughts wasn’t going to help.

He grabbed the half empty container of salt and shut the trunk, the sound echoing with a sense of finality, a wordless declaration from Sam to any being who was listening that this all stopped here, now, and that he would not let Dean fall any further.

He slipped back into the cabin, finding Dean sprawled on the sofa, idly flicking through the channels.

He frowned when Dean didn’t even look up at him as he moved through the cabin, checking and relaying salt where needed, carefully avoiding looking at him whenever Sam finished up on the windows behind the TV and then turned around to face him. From the almost constant static sounds coming from the TV behind him it didn’t seem that there was a lot of viewing choice, which he guessed would get old really soon with Dean acting like this.

“Dean?” Sam sighed, finishing off the last of the salt and turning back to face his brother, who didn’t look up, still flicking studiously between endless channels of snow.

He rolled his eyes and strode across the room, reaching Dean in two large strides, grabbing the remote out of Dean’s hands and hitting the standby before tossing it across the room, well out of Dean’s reach.

That got a reaction from Dean, who finally looked up at him, eyes murderous.

“C’mon Dean,” he began again, his voice pleading, “you aren’t really going to refuse to speak to me and act as if I’m not here for the next few days now, are you?” he asked, watching Dean.

Dean held his gaze for a moment, considering, then he nodded sharply at Sam once, before standing and heading for his room.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, reaching out and catching his wrist. Dean jerked his arm, trying to pull out of Sam’s grasp, but he was far from full-strength and it was pretty futile.

Sam stepped closer, crowding Dean with his presence, ignoring Dean’s struggle to release his hold. A few years ago, Dean would have been out of the hold by now and probably making Sam eat dustbunnies as he pinned him to the floor.

“Listen to me!” Sam urged; catching Dean’s other hand as he tried to punch him in the kidneys. “Dammit Dean, I’m not trying to hurt you man, I brought you here so that you could relax and get your strength back, because you’re in no shape to hunt right now. I just want you to get better,” Sam pleaded.

Dean went still in his grasp, finally looking up at Sam, and the cold, dead look in Dean’s eyes nearly killed him.

Sam barely felt it as Dean wrenched out of his suddenly lax grip and went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Sam was left standing in the middle of the room, staring blankly ahead.

He blinked, still standing perfectly still; feeling like someone had just knocked all the air out of his lungs. He took a breath, feeling it catch in his chest, followed by another, which felt like he was trying to breathe under water. He felt a tickle on his upper lip and licked at it to soothe the irritation, and was confused for a moment when he tasted salt.

He reached up a shaking hand and wiped at his eyes, frowning at the traitorous tears he encountered there before wiping his hand on his jeans. He couldn’t fall apart now.

Sam forced a shaky breath out, scrubbing all evidence of tears from his face before turning and looking at the closed door to Dean’s room.

Taking another, deeper breath, Sam brought himself under control, reining in his raging emotions as if he was preparing for battle. Taking one last deep breath, Sam squared his shoulders and strode towards the closed door.

He flung the door open so hard that it slammed back against the wall before rebounding towards him again, and he held out a hand to stop it from hitting him as he stared at Dean, who was sitting on the bed with his back to him, staring out of the large windows in front of him.

Dean didn’t turn around, even as Sam walked around the bottom of the bed, his anger fading as he took in Dean’s defeated posture. Sam sat down beside him, close enough that their knees were touching. He felt Dean shudder at the contact, and turned his attention to whatever had Dean so enraptured outside.

It was pitch black out now, so the only thing he could see was their reflections in the glass. Dean was staring past his reflection again, lost in his own musings, something that Sam had always joked was dangerous before, but now had the added ominous feeling from before when Sam had been in his dream. The overriding emotion pouring off of Dean reminded him of the defeated brother about to take that step out into the abyss, not caring what came next.

It was terrifying.

Sam stared at Dean’s reflection for a while, wondering how he was ever going to be able to reach his brother through the walls he had erected in their time apart, walls that seemed to have only been strengthened as a result of Judith’s spell and the dreamscape it had created for Dean.

Finally, at a loss for what to do, he resorted to the only thing that had worked before. He twisted on the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean and pulling him closer, burying his own head into Dean’s neck and whispering soft pleas for forgiveness and time against his skin.

He felt as Dean leaned into him and rested his cheek against the top of Sam’s head, lifting one hand and wrapping it around Sam’s forearm, holding onto it as if it was the only thing stopping him from falling into the nothingness.

They stayed that way for a long time, long after Sam’s back was protesting and his backside numb from the awkward position, until he felt Dean’s head jerk for the third time, teetering on the edge of sleep. He shifted, tipping Dean backwards gently until they both lay mostly on the bed. Dean twisted in his grip and Sam moved with him, until they both lay sprawled on top of the covers, Dean still gripping Sam’s arm that now lay across his chest.

Sam whispered to him time and again that it was safe, that he could sleep now, and that he would still be here when he woke up, that he would always be there for him, until Dean finally succumbed, his hand dropping onto the bedspread.

Only then did Sam finally relax and tuck his head back into the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder and let himself drift off to sleep as well.

:::

The first rays of sunlight brought awareness back to Sam, who rolled over so that the sun was no longer blinding him, body and mind arguing that it was too early to be awake, and that he should go back to sleep.

A sound from outside the room made him blink, and he realized that he was alone on the bed. He sat up quickly, looking around, half afraid that he would go outside and find that Dean had disappeared in the Impala, leaving Sam stranded here.

Another noise and the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting in from the kitchen calmed him, and he stood up, wiping sleep from his eyes and raking his hands through his hair before opening the door and looking outside, not sure what he was going to find.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t the sight that greeted him. Dean was sitting at the breakfast bar, flicking through an old magazine that he’d found lying around somewhere, cup of coffee in front of him. It could almost have been a scene from five years ago, if you didn’t look too closely.

Sam moved further into the room and managed a smile when Dean nudged a freshly poured cup of coffee at him. He chose to sit opposite his brother deliberately, pulling up the stool and watching as Dean returned his attention to the magazine, carefully avoiding actually having to talk to Sam.

He decided to let Dean off for now, content to take the time to wake up and study Dean without getting bitched at.

Dean was doing his best to throw off his ‘I’m fine, leave me alone,’ vibes. Sam wasn’t buying it though, not with the way Dean’s fingers were shaking as he turned the pages, staring at them without even paying attention to what he was looking at. His skin was pale, dark circles under both eyes bad enough that he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Add to that the way his clothes were almost hanging off of him; and Sam would have had to be blind and stupid to think that Dean was really as together as he was projecting.

He kept staring at Dean as he drank his coffee, watching him squirm under the attention, obviously trying to fight the need to look up at Sam, because if he did that it would give Sam an opening to talk, which was precisely what he was trying to avoid.

If he had been trying that shit on anyone else it would probably have worked, but it seemed that Dean had forgotten one very important thing... Sam wasn’t just anyone.

“Dean,” Sam broke the silence finally, waiting for Dean to look at him.

When he didn’t, he frowned and reached across the breakfast bar, resting his hand on top of his brother’s. Dean’s fingers curled around the page in his hand, paper crumpling loudly in protest before he finally looked up and met Sam’s gaze.

Sam stared at Dean, practically able to see in his eyes the massive fortifications Dean had put up around himself.

He’d always had strong defenses, years of living on the road as children, constantly being ‘the new kids’ in schools across the country meant that they both had found it difficult to let anyone in, never really having time to make friendships or relationships with anyone outside of the two of them. But then if you added in the hunting, where some of their prey was able to take your thoughts and perceived inadequacies and throw them back at you, those made you build your walls big and strong.

But these walls were all that and more. As if those alone hadn’t been strong enough, the wounds and damage suffered by Dean from his treatment at the hands of both John and Sam himself, now made the walls into a seemingly impenetrable fortress.

“Want some bacon or something, Sammy?” Dean asked with a grin. “I think I saw a frying pan around here someplace…” he added, moving to get up. Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s fingers and shook his head.

“Maybe later on,” he replied. “Dean…” he started again, but Dean cut him off before he could get any further.

“You oughta eat something Sam,” he pressed. “It’s been a long time since we stopped at that diner, and the food wasn’t for shit there,” he added, jerking his hand out from underneath Sam’s grip and climbing down from the stool so fast that for a moment Sam thought that he was going to fall.

He sighed and watched Dean’s back as he moved around the kitchen, banging pots and pans as loudly as he could, running a constant stream of chatter over the top. His voice was still hoarse, cracking occasionally, but Dean kept talking, determined to stop Sam before he started.

Sam watched his brother, trying to work out the best way to start breaking through his defenses, and listening to him criticizing the diner’s food from the previous night.

In fact, as far as roadside diners went, the food there had been some of the best he’d had, everything was freshly cooked to order and wasn’t drowning in a sea of grease. It had been more than edible, yet Dean had persisted in blaming the food for his lack of appetite, after Sam had called him on pushing his food around his plate and trying to make it look as if he’d eaten much more than he really had.

Eventually Sam had given up on Dean eating any more, when he’d pressed him on how much- or little, he had eaten, Dean had climbed out of the booth and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Sam sitting there. Sam was still not sure whether Dean would have actually left him there and driven off, if it weren’t for the fact that Sam had the keys.

Dean’s speech couldn’t last forever, and when he finally trailed off Sam was ready, he walked around the counter and stopped behind Dean, who was chopping some onion up to throw in an omelet. He wrapped his arms around his brother, reaching out to stop him. Dean jerked and swore as the knife slipped and sliced his finger open, blood quickly blossoming from the cut.

Sam reached for Dean’s hand as the knife clattered to the worktop, forgotten.

“Shit! Dean!” Sam yelped; cursing again as Dean twisted away from him.

“It’s fine Sam,” Dean insisted, moving over to the sink to wash the blood and onion juice off of his hands.

Sam moved over to the bathroom, grabbing the well stocked First Aid kit and digging through it.

“Gimme a band aid,” Dean called out, drying his hand on a paper towel, wincing as he pressed it against the damaged skin.

“You sure it doesn’t need butterfly stitches or something man?” Sam asked, concerned. “It looked pretty deep.”

“It’ll be fine,” Dean replied.

“You sure?” Sam pressed.

“Jesus Sam!” Dean exploded. “It’s just a fucking cut. Gimme a band aid and stop acting as if I’m going to die from it!”

Sam flinched, almost dropping the kit.

Dean stormed over and snatched the kit from him, walking back to the counter and throwing it down, pulling out the band aids and tossing the wadded up paper towel at the trashcan after he slapped the bandage on.

Sam watched Dean turn his back on him, picking up the knife and throwing it in the sink and wiping down the counter before grabbing another knife and starting to chop the onion again as if the last few minutes had never happened.

“Dean?” Sam started again, flinching as he watched Dean’s shoulders tense. He risked moving back over to Dean, this time leaning his back against the counter at Dean’s side, so he could see his face.

“What do you want, Sam?” Dean asked, his voice sounding weary and defeated.

Sam put his hand over Dean’s again, and Dean stopped chopping, meeting his eyes finally. When he was sure he had Dean’s full attention, he spoke.

“I just want you to be okay,” Sam told him, his voice soft. “I want you to stop acting like everything’s fine when we both know it’s not.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off.

“No,” he stopped him, waving his free hand in a stop gesture. “Listen to me, okay? You’re not taking care of yourself and we both know it. I’ve seen the scars Dean, I’ve seen how much weight you’ve lost, how little you’re eating, that spell notwithstanding I’d be willing to bet that you’re not sleeping much either. The Impala’s in a state, and you’re practically out of almost every kind of ammo, so don’t you stand there and try and tell me that you’re fine, because you’re not!” he took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing.

“I’m your brother Dean,” he spoke again, his voice softer now. “I may not have been the brother you needed me to be, and I know I’ve failed you badly, but I love you too much to stand by and watch you kill yourself like this.”

Dean looked at him for a moment before pulling away, putting distance between them and turning away.

“If you don’t want to watch, then I guess you’d better go,” he said, before walking over to the front door and opening it, slipping through and going outside, the door slamming shut between them.

::

By the time Dean returned, Sam was almost ready to tear his hair out. Dean shutting down and shutting him out wasn’t anything new, but the complete absence of emotion in Dean was starting to scare him. Dean was acting so… vacant, as if half of him was missing and the remaining parts threatened to splinter into a million pieces under the pressure, each one sharp and deadly as they ripped Dean to shreds.

His only solace had once again been the fact that Dean hadn’t taken the Impala. Sam was under no illusion that if Dean had really wanted to leave him here, it would take more than just Sam having possession of the keys to stop him. They’d both been able to hotwire cars almost as soon as they were tall enough to reach the peddles and see over the dash.

Not daring to follow Dean for fear of pushing him even further away, Sam had finished preparing breakfast, and had already eaten his own, leaving more than enough ready to fix for Dean as soon as he returned. Whenever that might be.

In the end it was several tense, nerve-wracking hours before Dean slipped silently back into the cabin. Sam looked up from where he’d been sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the TV with the sound turned off.

Dean met his eyes for a second before looking away again, something akin to resignation in his eyes as he waited for Sam to lay into him for leaving and being gone so long.

Sam didn’t say anything though, standing and padding into the kitchen area, pulling out the breakfast ingredients.

“Something to eat?” he asked, keeping his tone light as if none of the morning’s events had ever happened.

He heard Dean release a breath and walk over to the counter, settling on the stool and looking down at the counter as if it was the most fascinating thing on the planet.

Sam nodded and fired up the burner, falling into the simple rhythm of making an omelet and allowing it to distract him from opening his mouth and saying something to Dean that would force him into running off again

Instead he kept his mouth shut and moved around the kitchen, starting off a fresh pot of coffee for Dean and digging through the cupboards for plates and some cutlery.

He set the omelet on a plate and dropped that and the coffee in front of Dean with a flourish.

Dean picked up the cutlery and carefully cut into the food, taking a small forkful and staring at it suspiciously before finally taking a bite, his expression shifting from wary to surprised as he swallowed.

“Yeah,” Sam answered his silent question. “I finally managed to learn how to cook and not burn everything,” he smiled, watching Dean take another, larger bite.

“Finally,” he heard Dean reply softly and Sam snorted with laughter.

“Yeah well,” Sam continued. “I had the time y’know?” He snapped his jaw shut as one of the many giant pink elephants in the room jumped into view.

Dean swallowed the bite of food he was chewing and dropped the cutlery to the plate with a clatter, pushing it away from him and pushing back from the counter, ready to bolt.

“Dean, wait!” Sam yelped, reaching out a hand as if to stop Dean from leaving. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he pleaded. “Finish eating, please. I’ll leave you alone while you do if you like, just finish it, please?” he begged.

He’d been watching Sam, half out of his seat already, but finally nodded and sat back down, pulling the plate back towards himself and picking up the cutlery.

Sam sighed in relief and moved away from him, busying himself with cleaning up the kitchen and steadfastly ignoring Dean. By the time Dean had finished and pushed the plate away from him again, Sam was wiping down the counter.

Sam turned back around, walking over to pick up the plate, and smiling when he saw that Dean had managed to almost clear it. It was a start, and something Sam could work with.

“Fancy another?” he asked with a smile, half hoping, but not expecting Dean to say yes.

Dean just shook his head, turning from the counter and getting off of the stool, heading for the sofa and the TV remote.

On the screen, the channels changed rapidly, a little less static this time, until he found something that looked from where Sam stood to be an old episode of Jerry Springer.

Dean had always loved that show, Sam remembered. He’d asked Dean about it once, and Dean, in a rare moment of candor had replied that he’d enjoyed it because it was good to see that there were other families out there that were more fucked up than theirs.

Idly Sam wondered what Jerry Springer would have made of the Winchester’s, and how Steve would’ve managed to keep Sam and John apart as they fought. He grinned to himself. Who was he kidding? Steve would never have got near Sam; Dean would have stopped him before he could lay a finger on him.

He felt eyes on him and looked back at Dean, who was watching him with a questioning look on his face, obviously wondering what Sam was smiling at. Sam shook his head at him before turning back to the sink, finishing the clearing up before heading over to the sofa and flopping down, laughing when one episode of Springer finished only to be replaced immediately with another.

:::

A few hours later and Sam felt himself dozing, despite the noise from the TV. It turned out that the channel was running a Jerry Springer Marathon, and so every time he opened his eyes he was assaulted by various oddballs fighting onscreen, accompanied by a hell of a lot of bleeping.

He had slumped down on the sofa, half falling towards Dean, who seemed to be still engrossed in the TV. Sam closed his eyes again, planning on trying to get some more sleep, when he felt a gentle touch to his head. A few years ago he would have been jumping off the sofa immediately, brushing his hair off before Dean could mash chewing gum or Play Dough in his hair.

But now he was content to lay there and pretend to be sleeping, just to feel Dean close to him again as he considered once again just how the hell they ended up here.

Growing up they had always been DeanandSammy. It seemed like Dad was hardly ever around, so it had been natural for Sam to turn to Dean for everything- and Dean had never failed him once. He picked him up and dusted him down, eased away the hurts, helped him and held him, all without a word of complaint.

It had all changed somewhere in Iowa. He’d been at Junior High and one of the other kids had seen Sam holding Dean’s hand as they crossed the road on the way home – and by the next day the kid had spread it all around the school that little Sammy Winchester was a baby who had to hold his brother’s hand.

He’d been the subject of scorn and ridicule the entire day, the butt of everyone’s jokes. Walking home that night, Sam had refused to touch Dean, ignoring him and yelling at him that he was not a baby, he didn’t need to hold hands just to cross the road anymore, and it was not Sammy it was Sam…

Dean hadn’t replied, he’d only nodded, something indefinable crossing his face before he had turned away and checked that the road was safe before crossing, Sam trailing just behind him. From then on Sam had pushed and railed against Dean, although what he was trying to prove and who he was trying to prove it to he still didn’t really know now.

They’d moved on again that summer, started in new schools that fall, but something had been broken between them, Dean no longer offered the comforting hugs; and the touches that had once been so frequent had trailed off, becoming non-existent unless Sam initiated the touch, which, in his new teenage rebellion, he had almost never done.

Looking back it all seemed so petty, so stupid. He’d sat back and watched as Dean had withdrawn and started building the first of many walls between them.

Sometimes Sam got the feeling that even as far back as that, Dean had known that Sam would never stay and he had started the futile task of extracting Sam from his heart and hiding behind his barriers just so that Sam leaving wouldn’t feel like half of himself, the best half, being ripped away.

Because sitting on a greyhound bus, Dean’s defeated silhouette fading behind him, that’s precisely how Sam felt. It had taken months before he stopped expecting Dean to be there whenever he turned around. And the ache? That had never really left him. Even when they were back together looking for their father, it had been there, even though Dean was right there with him. For the longest time Sam had attributed it to losing Jess, but later, when that pain had faded, the ache was still there, the need to have Dean be everything that he had once been, that childhood need to have Dean be able to fix anything, to be his big brother. Because Dean had been there; but the walls had grown tenfold.

He came back to himself as he felt Dean tugging gently at the strands of his hair, making him groan. He stretched and turned his head to look up at Dean, whose attention was on the fingers that were still in his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, not liking the lost look that had crept back onto Dean’s face at some point while he’d been lost in his own thoughts.

Dean’s gaze shifted to him, and when Dean’s mouth opened, for a moment Sam thought that he might actually tell him, but instead Dean just shut his mouth again and shook his head, focusing his attention back onto the TV.

Sam reached up and grabbed Dean’s hand, gently untangling his fingers from his hair before pulling it down, resting their joined fingers on his chest, Dean’s fingers underneath so that he could feel the beating of Sam’s heart.

Dean sighed and tipped his head back onto the sofa’s headrest, letting himself relax a little. Sam smiled a little wryly, things beginning to click into place. Dean was trying, that was for sure, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fool Sam with his patented ‘I’m fine dude, now leave me alone’ attitude.

At the end of the day, Dean was still more than a little screwed up by everything, hell, everything since he was four if the truth be known. But one thing that Sam had rediscovered was how much Dean responded to his simple presence. Just being able to touch Sam, to reassure himself that yes, Sam really was there with him, helped him start to believe that it really was true.

So for now he’d let Dean keep on pretending that everything was okay, and in the meantime he’d do his best to make it true.

:::

After that they fell into a sort of routine, Sam carefully navigating the minefield that was his relationship with Dean, causing more than a few explosions on the way. Dean was still quieter than he was used to, barely speaking in full sentences, and almost never actually initiating a conversation.

It was driving Sam nuts.

On the third day, Sam had found the fishing equipment and had talked Dean into heading down to the lake that sat on the other side of the woods, less than a mile away. Well, he’d actually conned him into going by betting him that Dean couldn’t catch as many fish as Sam could, and even this Dean couldn’t resist a challenge.

Over the weeks, in between getting him to spend time outside and regular meals, Dean started to at least look more like himself again. His skin lost its pale grey tinge, regaining a healthy glow, and he had eventually started sleeping for longer than two or three hours a night, so his eyes lost their dark circles and the hollows in his cheeks filled out again, making him look younger and less like he’d gone 10 rounds and lost.

If it wasn’t for the way he was acting, you could look at him and almost believe that he was back to normal. But Sam wasn’t fooled for a minute.

When Dean used to walk into a room, everyone turned to look at him. It was a fact, and something that had pissed Sam off for years, but that didn’t make it any less true. Dean had a presence that drew everyone’s attention to him. It was like he was too big for the body he occupied and was leaking out into the air around him, sending off vibes that no-one was able to ignore. Over time Dean had learned to use it to his advantage, exploiting it as ruthlessly as any other weapon in his arsenal.

But now it appeared that he had lost that presence, or at least learned to squeeze it in and stuff it deep down within himself, making himself so small that he was almost invisible, even to Sam, who was hyperaware of his brother at all times.

All in all it had been a tense week and a half, but Sam was confident that Dean was somewhat better, even if he still wasn’t anywhere near 100%.

He was also fully aware that Dean was getting restless. The return of his health had made him jumpy and eager to get moving again. Finally, the night before Dean had come right out and demanded Sam give him the Impala keys so he could get out of here. He’d even drop Sam off somewhere so he could get back to California.

Sam had let Dean get to him, turning it into a full scale skirmish that neither of them was about to back down on. Eventually Sam had threatened to get into the Impala and drive her off himself if Dean didn’t settle down. That had shut Dean up fast, but the storm hadn’t blown over, and so Sam had been forced to reconsider his plan.

Originally, he’d wanted to stay here until Dean was fully fit and Dean again. But it was clear that Dean wasn’t going to allow that now. Instead it was time for Plan B.


	10. Part Nine

A couple of calls to Bobby later and Sam had a nice easy job lined up. He might have been forced to change his plans, but there was no way in hell he was going to let Dean jump straight back into the game with a tough job. Dean might still be playing the ‘everything’s fine’ routine, but Sam still wasn’t fooled. Give Dean an inch and he’d take a mile; that was for sure, but at the same time, if you played him right, made him think that you were giving in to him, and then you could get him to play along without realizing it.

He found Dean out at the lake, sitting on the small dock and staring out across the water. Sam sat down next to him, handing him one of the beers he was carrying.

“Hey,” he greeted Dean, trying to gauge what kind of mood his brother was in.

For days he’d been up before Sam woke, slipping silently outside to find solace in one of his quiet spots; on the porch; the hood of the Impala; or here at the lake.

The first couple of times had scared the hell out of Sam, who’d feared that Dean had taken off, which had set off a couple of loud arguments about overprotective younger and thoughtless older brothers.

After that, things had settled down between them, and Sam would leave Dean alone until he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he’d come and find Dean and bring him coffee or a beer, depending on the time.

Today, Sam had used the time to call Bobby and set things up, so it was well past three when he came outside.

“Hey,” Dean replied quietly, taking the bottle with a nod. Sam took a swig of his bottle, watching Dean for a moment before breaking the silence again.

“So, I called Bobby today,” he said quietly, watching as Dean’s head nearly spun off of his shoulders he whipped it around so quickly.

“You did?” Dean asked, caught between insane curiosity and anger at Sam for butting his nose in again.

Sam nodded, catching the tone and deciding to tread lightly.

“Uh huh, I did. He says hi, by the way,” Sam told him.

Dean gave him a look that told him to cut the bullshit.

“He mentioned a job a bit further south, sounds like a haunting,” he continued, watching as Dean’s eyebrow rose.

“A ghost has been materializing on a bridge,” he recounted. “And supposedly any man who sees her winds up dead.”

Dean looked at him, tilting his head to try and work out why Sam was telling him this.

“I told him we’d check it out,” Sam added, unable to meet his brother’s eyes.

Dean just stared at him, not saying anything. Sam eventually lifted his eyes to look at him, seeing immediately a million conflicting emotions crossing his face. There was the happiness, the surge of pre-hunt adrenaline and the faint flicker of hope, but there was pain and fear and hurt mixed in as well, which scared Sam more.

“Why’d you do that?” Dean asked; his voice flat.

“You’ve been itching to get out of here and back on the road,” Sam shrugged. “So I figured why not- beats watching you go stir crazy here.”

Dean shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “Not that, why say ‘us’?” he asked.

Sam smiled crookedly and shook his head. “What? You don’t want me to come?” he grinned. “You don’t really think I’m about to let you do this one on your own do ya?”

Dean looked away across the lake, not answering him.

“Dean,” Sam sighed. “I know this is one of the things we’re not talking about, but damnit I missed you, and I want to spend time with you. But I want you to be happy too. You’re not happy here, so we’ll go find this spook and rocksalt ‘em back into the afterlife. It’ll be just like old times!” he finished, nudging Dean with his shoulder.

Dean flinched a little at his last words, but didn’t look back at him. He was torn between elation that Sam was talking about hunting with him again, but also petrified that Sam was only going to stick around long enough to satisfy his own conscience before he took off and walked out of Dean’s life once more.

For a few minutes they just sat there in silence, Sam waiting for Dean to reply and Dean trying to find the words to convey what he was thinking and feeling.

Eventually, Dean buried all of those feelings and turned back around to face him, lifting his eyes to meet his brother’s.

“You giant girl,” he responded, before standing and walking back towards the cabin.

Sam just grinned out at the lake.

:::

It took a little while to get prepared. First of all they had to clear up the cabin, neither of them was ever particularly house-proud, but this was Bobby’s cabin, in thought if not in deed.

It was amazing to Sam how quickly they fell back into the rhythm of packing up. As children they’d done this so often that they had a routine for who was responsible for what. So many years later, they fell easily back on this half-forgotten training and moved effortlessly around each other, cleaning and packing and getting ready to move.

By the next morning they were ready to go, and while Sam locked up the cabin and tucked the key back into its hiding place, Dean threw the last of their gear into the trunk, slamming it closed.

Sam turned and walked over to the car, meeting Dean by the front bumper.

“Ready?” he asked, the single word implying a million questions.

“Always,” Dean replied, throwing a cocky grin at Sam and clinging to the vain hope that everything was going to be okay.

Sam nodded and dug in his pocket for the keys that he’d been hiding all this time. He gripped them tightly in his palm, before dangling them between them, a smile on his face. Dean grinned at him and snatched the keys from his hand, turning and almost running for the door.

“C’mon slowcoach,” he teased. “We’re burning daylight here.”

Sam laughed and turned quickly, heading for the passenger seat. They still weren’t anywhere near being right yet, he thought to himself, but this was a damn good start.

:::

Being back on the road again felt strange to Sam. He could vaguely recall the days on the road after Jess, but most of it was lost in a haze of pain and depression that he hadn’t seemed to be able to drag himself out of. Dean had left him alone to mourn for a while, until he finally had enough and pushed and cajoled Sam into letting go enough that he could start to function again, even if only a little.

Sam knew it had killed Dean to see his brother in so much pain and unable to do anything to fix it, so he had done all he could, just being there for him and fixing Sam as best he could, and giving him the tools to complete the job himself.

Now Sam was trying to return the favor, but he didn’t know if it was really working. Sure, Dean was regaining his strength and health, but he was still a million miles away from the Dean that Sam remembered. He was too quiet, too… still.

The music blared between them, but more as a barrier to keep Sam from pushing him, rather than as a distraction from endless hours on the road. Dean just drove, he wasn’t moving to the music, his fingers weren’t tapping out the beat on the steering wheel, and he hadn’t once started to sing along either. And that just wasn’t Dean.

:::

They pulled into Whitney Falls in the early evening and Dean pulled up at the small motel, heading in and getting them a room, leaving Sam in the car. Sam didn’t miss that Dean took the car keys with him though.

Dean returned a couple of minutes later, a key hanging from his fingers, and Sam got out of the car and went around to wait for him at the trunk.

Together they grabbed their bags and headed for the room, Sam trailing after Dean.

Dean let them in and threw his stuff on the nearest bed before heading to the bathroom. Sam shut the door behind him and tossed his bag on the remaining bed before pulling out Dean’s laptop and booting it up.

The only problem Sam had found with the cabin was the inability to connect to the internet, and so now was the first time he had been able to check his email and pick up the information on the job that Bobby had promised to send over.

Sam still chuckled to himself over the fact that Bobby even knew how to email anything, but he found himself grateful when he saw the amount of stuff Bobby had been able to dig up for them already.

He set about downloading and saving all the information when Dean left the bathroom, water droplets around his hairline from where he’d splashed water on his face in an attempt to freshen up.

“I’m going to get coffee,” Dean told him, picking up his jacket again. “Want anything?” he offered.

Sam looked up at him. “Food would be good,” Sam requested. “Want me to come with?” he asked.

Dean snorted. “I think I can manage without having you there to hold my hand thanks princess,” he snarked back.

Sam held his hands up in defeat. “Okay, fine,” he replied, placating him. “Pick me up a coffee and whatever looks good,” he requested. “I’ve got all the information from Bobby; we can take a look when you get back, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean replied, distractedly, swiping up the key from where he’d thrown it and leaving the room, the door shutting loudly behind him.

For a second Sam panicked when he realized that Dean had the Impala keys and could leave him here, but when he peeked out of the window, he caught sight of Dean heading to the diner across the street and relaxed.

Sam settled down with all the information Bobby had sent, realizing that he’d done a pretty thorough job for them already. Through the information Bobby had sent, Sam was able to pull up the local news articles on each of the recent victims, along with some local folklore.

He’d need a trip down the library to fill in the details, but by all accounts he had a main suspect that fitted the profile. He made a few notes before moving on.

He was just finishing up cross-referencing all of the information when there was a bang against the door, followed by the scrape of a key as Dean returned.

Dean entered, juggling a cardboard tray with the coffees and a couple of bags of food, one of which looked to be almost transparent with the amount of grease that had already leaked through.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Dean set everything on the table, seconds after Sam had managed to gather all his notes up and drop them behind him on the floor, where they’d be safer.

“Here you go,” Dean announced, handing him one of the cups and passing across the thankfully less greasy bag.

Sam didn’t bother to comment on Dean’s choice of food, even though he wanted to grouch about how unhealthy that burger looked and make at least one crack about hardening arteries, but he held his tongue, just glad that Dean was eating voluntarily.

Dean didn’t talk as he worked his way through his meal, and avoided looking at Sam as much as possible to discourage conversation. By the time that Sam was down to the last scraps of his food, Dean was more composed, and he finally looked up at Sam, ignoring the glimmer of happiness in his eyes.

“So?” he asked softly, gesturing at the pile of paper on the floor. “What’s the verdict?”

“Emily Fortesque died in 1874 after throwing herself off a bridge on the eve of her wedding, shortly after she caught her fiancée with her best friend. She’s been seen since a number of times, but that hasn’t always coincided with a death. The deaths are sporadic and don’t have any clear pattern, they aren’t all on the same day, the men don’t share any obvious characteristics, and they’re spread out over the last hundred years. But they have been increasing in frequency, and the latest two happened within the last three weeks,” he told Dean.

“So you’re sure it’s her?” Dean asked.

“Pretty sure,” Sam replied. “She’s the only female documented death associated with the bridge- and the girlfriend of one of the men swore that she saw a woman grab her boyfriend and toss him off of the bridge before disappearing.”

“The deaths were all guys?” Dean clarified.

“Yup,” Sam confirmed.

“So geek boy,” Dean spoke. “Know where she’s buried?”

Sam frowned at Dean for the nickname but decided against calling him on it. It had been so long since Dean had called him that, and he’d almost missed it.

“Not yet- I need to hit up the library and records office tomorrow morning; maybe talk to a couple of the families to see if we can work out her motive. All being well we should be ready for a salt and burn tomorrow night.”

“Sweet,” Dean grinned, rubbing his hands together. “You ready?” he asked, standing and grabbing his jacket.

“What for?” Sam asked, standing as well.

“To check out that bridge,” Dean answered as if it what the most obvious answer.

“But why?” Sam questioned, moving towards the door. “We can’t do anything tonight.”

“I want to get the lay of the land, have a nose around, that’s all,” he replied. “Don’t wanna wait all morning and I don’t wanna sit here all night with my thumb stuck up my ass, okay,” he added, his voice rising.

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as Dean turned and stalked over to the car, leaving him standing in the doorway. For a second Sam considered letting Dean go on his own, he was tired and sore from being in cramped up in the car all day, and wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep. But the thought of letting Dean go anywhere on his own…

Sam made his decision and grabbed his jacket and the key, shutting the door behind him and rushing after Dean, long legs eating up the gap so that he reached the car as Dean turned the ignition. He barely got his legs in and the door shut before the Impala was peeling out of the parking lot.

:::

The roads were almost empty, everyone in town seemingly happily tucked up in bed, and it only took about ten minutes to reach the bridge. Dean parked up to one side, the headlights briefly illuminating the side of the bridge and the dark river that ran beneath it before Dean switched the lights and the engine off.

“Doesn’t look much now, does it?” Dean commented, getting out of the car and heading for the trunk.

Sam didn’t answer, getting out himself and reaching Dean as he propped open the cover to the weapons stash. Dean rifled around for a moment, pulling out a shotgun and loading up a few salt shells, slipping a few more in his pocket just in case.

He shut the trunk with a bang, making Sam wince at the noise, before he swept past and headed for the bridge itself.

“Coming Princess?” Dean threw over his shoulder.

Sam sighed heavily and trudged after Dean, muttering under his breath about bull-headed older brothers.

:::

The bridge was nothing special, apart from the fact that it looked like it was a miracle it was still standing. It had been built to cross a deep crevasse across the river, but more recently another, stronger bridge had been built closer to the town, and so it was no longer used for vehicles, now mainly relegated to a path for local walkers and a place for lovebirds to hang out. Structurally it seemed sound enough, although Sam wasn’t about to suggest driving the Impala over it to find out.

Dean stepped onto the bridge proper, pulling his flashlight out and sweeping it across the area, looking for anything strange.

“Anything?” Sam asked, walking up behind him.

“Nah,” Dean replied, not turning around.

Sam flicked on his own flashlight and started looking at the opposite side of the bridge, deciding that the faster Dean was happy so they could go back to their room, the better.

Nothing strange jumped out at him, although the eerie atmosphere was spooky enough all on its own. He stepped to the side of the bridge and aimed his light at the river below.

In the darkness it looked almost black, and was topped with a fine coating of wispy-looking mist. He could hear the sound of the river below that, the rumbling betraying a fairly fast moving current in the steep-sided gulley, and Sam had a fleeting sympathy for the men who had apparently been tossed into its depths.

Heavy footsteps and the bouncing beam of light announced Dean’s presence beside him, and he turned away from the river to look at his brother.

The beam from Dean’s flashlight blinded him for a second, and he blinked against the afterimages left in his vision. Dean stood in front of him, but a flicker of something behind him drew his attention.

Still blinking to clear his eyes, Sam took a second to recognize the silhouette of Emily Fortesque standing behind Dean, her attention on his brother.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, watching as Emily wrapped a spectral hand around Dean’s neck, jerking him backwards.

Dean staggered under the assault, trying and failing to twist out of the icy grip on his neck as he was knocked off balance and dragged backwards towards the opposite side of the bridge.

He’d dropped both the shotgun and the flashlight as he’d tried to get loose, growling in anger when he’d been unable to get a grip on the ghost’s arm. His breath was knocked out of him entirely as his back hit the railing hard, shoulders tipping over the edge.

He could vaguely hear Sam in front of him, yelling something, but it was drowned out by the sudden increase in volume from the river, sounding as if it was screaming for him.

Feeling cold hands on his chest, Dean struggled, trying to stop her from tipping him back over the railings into the water below. He knew Sam was nearby, could still hear him yelling, but also knew that Sam only had the shotgun as a weapon, and knew equally well that Sam wasn’t going to willingly fire the shotgun as long as Dean was in range.

“Shoot her!” Dean yelled, trying to push the ghost off of him, even as he felt his boots sliding on the loose gravel under his feet, tipping him further off balance and giving her the edge she needed to tip him straight over.

The sound of the shotgun going off close to him was enough to make him flinch and lose his grip, flailing for a second before a strong, warm hand caught his wrist and dragged him away from the edge, pulling him in until he half collapsed against Sam’s broad chest.

Sam held him up so that he could recover his balance, but didn’t release his hold on Dean’s wrist, keeping him close as Sam backed them both off of the bridge in the direction of the Impala, sweeping the area with the shotgun, just in case she was able to re-materialize before they reached safety.

They made it back to the car and Sam pushed Dean up against the passenger door.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam asked, pulling at Dean’s jacket and shirt to try and check for injuries with one hand, the other still firmly gripped on the shotgun.

“I’m fine,” Dean replied, trying to push Sam’s hand away. Angry at letting a stupid ghost get the drop on him in front of Sam. “Let’s just get out of here,” he added, managing to push Sam away enough to step out of his hold, heading for the driver’s side door and pulling the keys out of his pocket.

“We’ll salt and burn that bitch back to hell tomorrow,” he added, as if he hadn’t just nearly been pushed to his watery death.

Sam slipped into the car, his brow furrowed as he watched Dean wince when he leaned forward to turn the ignition, mentally trying to catalog what possible injuries he needed to check out as soon as they got back to the motel.

It seemed to Sam that it took longer to get back to the motel than it had to drive to the bridge, but he spent almost the entire journey surreptitiously trying to watch Dean, making sure that he really was as fine as he was protesting he was.

By the time they pulled into the motel’s parking lot, the lines of pain were firmly etched into Dean’s face, the tightly controlled way he was holding his body betraying how much discomfort he was really in.

Sam watched as Dean wrapped an arm across his chest, and added cracked ribs to the list of things to check out when they got into the room.

He followed Dean inside, and watched in surprise as Dean picked up the medical kit and took it into the bathroom with him, shutting the door behind him. The click of the lock engaging sounded like a rifle shot in the room, and Sam swore and shut the motel room door behind him.

He’d thought that he and Dean were finally starting to get somewhere, that Dean was slowly starting to let him in again, just a little bit, but now he wasn’t even trusting Sam to check him over and patch him up.

Well fuck that.

“Dean?’ Sam called, knocking firmly on the bathroom door.

There was no answer from inside, but Sam could hear Dean moving about, along with a muffled curse.

“You gonna open this door, or do I have to pick the lock?” he questioned; already reaching for Dean’s bag on the floor that he knew held the lock-picks.

“I’m fine Sam,” Dean replied finally, his voice sounding anything but.

“Well then you won’t mind me taking a look to make sure then, will you?” Sam retorted, leaning against the doorframe.

“Bitch,” he heard Dean mutter.

“Jerk,” he replied lightly, the grin on his face growing as he heard the lock disengage.

“You’re such an old woman Sam,” Dean told him, stepping back as Sam opened the door and let himself in.

“Yeah, and you’re a crotchety old man,” Sam shot back. “That’s why we go together so well,” he smirked.

Dean was seated on the closed toilet seat, his shirt and jacket on the floor, and his t-shirt rucked up around his armpits, as if he’d tried to take it off but had been unable to pull it over his head.

“C’mere,” Sam said softly, stepping inside the tiny bathroom fully and reaching for the fabric. He gently eased the shirt off of Dean, grimacing at the number of bruises already blossoming on his brother’s skin.

“C’mon,” Sam requested softly. “I can’t see for shit in here with this light, we’re better in the other room.”

Dean let Sam guide him carefully back into the bedroom and settle him on one of the beds, grimacing as he sat down. In the brighter light Sam couldn’t hide his wince at the massive bruising all over Dean’s body, and the strange marks on his chest and across his throat. Pale, almost white patches on the skin around Dean’s neck were surrounded by reddened skin, and it was cold to the touch.

The marks on Dean’s chest formed the perfect imprints of two small hands; the skin there was equally cold.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam spoke, eyebrows raised. “It looks almost like frostbite."

Dean looked down at his chest, fingers prodding the wounds none too gently.

“She felt like ice,” Dean told him, frowning as he looked at his hands, which were equally cold, and tingling as the warmth returned to them finally. “I guess that’s what happens when you throw yourself into a freezing cold river,” he added with a half smirk.

Sam looked at him, exasperated, but didn’t reply, still prodding at the injured skin.

“OW! Careful Sam,” Dean complained when Sam hit a particularly tender spot.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Sam informed him, ignoring his complaints. “I don’t think you need any treatment on them.”

“Good,” Dean retorted. “Because your bedside manner still sucks, Sam,” he snarked back.

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Sam replied, standing and moving to check out the mottled bruising on Dean’s back from where he was slammed into the guard railing.

“For what? OW!” Dean asked; trying to shift away from Sam’s probing fingers.

“For me saving your ass… again,” Sam replied.

Dean snorted but didn’t answer him back.

“I don’t think you broke any,” Sam informed him, as he grabbed the medical kit and started looking through it. “But it feels like you might have cracked one, you’ve certainly bruised them up good,” he added, making a little ‘aha!’ noise as he pulled out the bandages.

“Hold still and I’ll wrap them for you,” he told Dean, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder as Dean started to stand.

“I’ll be fine, Sam,” Dean replied, shrugging Sam’s hand off of him and standing. “I’m going to take a shower,” he added, heading for the bathroom.

“Try not to have the water too hot,” Sam reminded him, “you need to let the skin warm up slowly.”

Dean shot him a look over his shoulder and didn’t reply, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

“Stubborn idiot,” Sam muttered into the empty room.

:::

By the time Dean left the bathroom, Sam had tidied up and was back working on the laptop, the bandages were sitting beside him on the table, and he looked up at Dean expectantly.

Dean sighed.

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?” he asked.

“Nope,” Sam replied, a smug grin on his face. He already knew that he was going to win this argument.

Dean sighed again and rolled his eyes, sitting back on the bed and looking at Sam expectantly.

“Fine, but hurry it up willya, some of us wanna get some sleep!” he complained.

Sam glared at Dean’s show of impatience, but didn’t take the bait, instead simply starting to bind Dean’s ribs, nimble hands working quickly.

Dean managed to hold still until Sam was finished, but then he was off the bed like a shot, pulling back the covers on his own bed and sliding in, turning his back on Sam and checking that his knife was in place before settling his head down on the pillow and closing his eyes, effectively shutting Sam out.

Sam watched and sighed, rolling his eyes at Dean’s method of avoidance before carefully packing up the first aid kit and putting it on the dresser.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Sam told Dean quietly, merely receiving a grunt in reply.

He turned off the main overhead light, just leaving the small bedside lamp on so that he could see, before shucking his clothes and heading for the bathroom, silently hoping that Dean had left him some hot water.

:::

The next morning Sam woke to a shaft of sunlight in his eyes, from where the threadbare curtains in the room didn’t quite meet in the middle.

He rolled over and found himself looking at Dean’s bed; which was empty. He bolted upright, looking around the room, only relaxing when he spotted Dean’s duffel on the floor.

Leaning back on his hands, Sam wondered if he’d ever get to the point where he could wake up and not panic if Dean wasn’t in the motel room with him. ‘At this rate?’ he thought to himself. ‘Probably not.’

Dean wasn’t in the bathroom, and a glance into the parking lot revealed that the Impala was missing.

He moved over to his own bag, and spotted a piece of paper on the floor where it had apparently fallen between the beds.

“Gone into town. Call me when you wake up, bitch,” he read aloud.

“Nice, Dean” he muttered, crushing the note and tossing it at the trashcan.

Grabbing some fresh clothes, Sam quickly changed before picking up his cell and dialing his brother’s number.

“Finally wake up now, didya?” Dean asked by way of greeting.

“Where are you?” Sam asked, ignoring his jibe.

“Back in town, just finished in the records office,” Dean explained.

“You get it?” Sam asked, not needing to elaborate.

“Think so,” Dean replied, just as cagily. “Need to head on over to the library and check a few things out, but I’ll leave that until after lunch,” he added. “I’ll finish up here and we can go over everything later, okay?”

“Sounds cool man,” Sam agreed. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Sam finished his call and set his cell down on the dresser, looking around the room and wondering what he could do to kill time until Dean got back.

:::

The roar of the Impala’s engine brought Sam out of the daze he was in, and he sat up in the chair he was slumped in.

Dean entered the room a few minutes later, juggling the room key and a couple of coffees in his hands.

Sam jumped up to help him.

"You okay?" he asked, taking in the strained look on Dean' face.

"'m fine Sam," Dean replied tersely. Sam stared at him disbelievingly, taking in the careful way he was holding his body.

"Want me to re-wrap those ribs?" he offered, ignoring Dean's posturing.

"Sam," Dean sighed heavily. "I said I was fine"

Sam picked up the book on the table and threw it at Dean, who reached out to catch it automatically.

"Fuck!" he yelled, wrapping an arm around his ribs protectively, the book hitting him in the arm before dropping to the floor at his feet.

"Yeah," Sam replied dryly. "You’re just peachy ain't ya."

Dean glared at him but said nothing, easing himself down onto the bed.

Sam sat back down, pushing one of the coffees over to Dean and taking the other for himself.

"So? Did you find her?" Sam asked, smiling to himself when Dean's shoulders relaxed with the change in subject.

Dean reached into hip pocket and withdrew a piece of paper, sliding it over to Sam. He opened it and read over the contents quickly, recognizing it as a photocopy from the records office showing details both of her death and her burial position.

"You check the cemetery out?" Sam asked, looking back up at Dean.

"Not yet," Dean replied. "Was gonna do it next, but now you're up, I guess we can go eat first."

"Wanna go out and find a diner?" Sam checked.

"Yeah, sure. There's a mom and pop place in the town. We can try there if you like," Dean replied.

"Great!" Sam smiled. "Now take your shirt off so that I can do your ribs," he added, smirking at the look on Dean's face.

Dean swore under his breath, but started to undo the buttons on his shirt, knowing that Sam wouldn’t let it go until he’d had a chance to fuss over him. Dean was fine with them as they were, after all, it wasn’t as if there was much that Sam could do about it, other than wrap them again, but he just didn’t have the energy to fight his brother over this.

He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone else there, someone to watch over him and make sure he ate enough, slept enough, to bring him coffee in the morning. Even to just have someone to bitch to about the stupid stuff. And most of all, he’d forgotten what it was like to have someone there to watch his back, and to make sure that he was safe, and to patch him up when all else failed.

It was… strange.

And something he couldn’t let himself get comfortable with.

Because Sam couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ stay, and when he went back to his life, Dean would be alone once more, and he couldn’t afford to hesitate for that split second, waiting for backup that wasn’t going to come, before remembering he was alone and dealing with the bad guy himself.

No, he’d done that before, twice if he counted the time when John had left him. But despite their closeness, and the fact that John had raised Dean as his own foot soldier, it still hadn’t been nearly as bad as after Sam.

He absently rubbed the top of the scar on his hip, just visible above the waistband of his jeans, wincing at the memory of that one particular hunt.

He opened his eyes when he felt Sam move, and found Sam in front of him, staring at him with a concerned look on his face, watching Dean’s fingers.

Dean pulled his hand away sharply, letting his t-shirt fall back into place, staring at Sam. Sam looked for a moment as if he was going to ask, but at the last second something made him change his mind, and he shook his head, reaching instead to help Dean slip his t-shirt off.

Dean watched him warily, still waiting for him to ask, and swearing to himself once again that Sammy would never find out the stories behind some of his scars.

:::

Sam watched Dean as he slipped back inside his own head, losing himself in a memory. He’d seen Dean do this a number of times since he’d woken him; and each one worried Sam more and more. He knew that Dean had secrets, things that he couldn’t and wouldn’t share with Sam, even before their long separation, but the look on his face when he zoned out like this… it scared him.

Dean looked pained and lost, completely oblivious to the world around him, and his hand would invariably fall to rub at that scar on his hip.

He’d seen that scar, it was impossible not to, raised and silvered skin running from above his hipbone down his side to half way down his thigh, where it was joined by a couple of deeper but shorter scars. They were clearly claw marks, and Sam shuddered, wondering what had put them on his brother’s skin, and just how close he had come to losing his brother without even knowing it.

He’d tried asking Dean once, back at the cabin, and Dean had pretended not to know what Sam was talking about before running away to the lake, away from Sam’s questions and prying eyes.

Sam had left him alone after that.

He moved to stand in front of Dean, drawing his attention and bringing him back from wherever his mind had taken him then.

For a second, he considered trying to ask Dean again. But something in his eyes told Sam not to push it now, that it would only make Dean run once more, and he was in no condition for that right now.

Instead, he helped Dean take his shirt and t-shirt off, before setting about removing the bandages.

As his torso was uncovered, Sam saw the extent of the bruising on Dean’s back from his close encounter with the side of the bridge, a mass of swirling purples and greens, so dark in places they almost looked black.

He winced in sympathy when Dean was unable to bite back a pained sound as Sam settled him down on a chair so that he could hold still while Sam worked.

“Sorry,” Sam apologized softly. Dean didn’t reply, just closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as Sam urged his arms away from his body so he could wrap the bandages back around him.

Sam worked in silence, pulling the bandages tight as he went, ignoring Dean’s harsh breathing with each sharp pull. Once he was done, Sam stepped back and reached over to grab Dean’s t-shirt, absently turning it back out the right way before helping Dean to put it back on.

Dean was surprisingly docile, letting Sam help him, which confounded and worried Sam at the same time. It was good that Dean wasn’t being so stubborn to refuse his help, but equally, it wasn’t like Dean to be so silent. Just one more thing to add to the list of ways Dean had changed.

Fully dressed once more, Dean turned back to the door, throwing a soft “You coming?” over his shoulder at Sam before disappearing back out into the sunlight.

Sam sighed heavily before following him, silently reaffirming his promise to himself that he _would_ break through Dean’s walls again.


	11. Part Ten

It was late at night and almost pitch-black when Dean pulled the Impala up to the edge of Watersview Cemetery. The sky was cloudy, obscuring the moon and making the night even darker. Sam got out and watched as every now and then the dim light would find a break in the cloud and shine through, only for another cloud to come along and smother it once more.

The cemetery was silent and showing signs of abandonment. Dean’s research had turned up the fact that the lot had been filled to capacity sometime around the end of the seventies, and so apart from the odd one or two pre-brought plots, there were almost no new burials up here anymore.

Dean had also discovered that there was no patrol of the cemetery, too far out of town for the cops, and no houses nearby to notice anything.

All in all, just the sort of simple salt and burn that Dean loved.

Dean popped the trunk and lifted the false bottom, propping it open with the old shotgun. Sam grabbed a shovel and the salt, leaving Dean to grab the container of gas. He frowned as Dean also took out the second shovel, sure it wasn’t going to do Dean’s ribs much good to be digging, but he said nothing, not willing to argue the point just yet.

Dean led the way to the grave, occasionally shining his flashlight on the scribbled notes he had made earlier, muttering to himself as he counted off the rows under his breath.

Sam stumbled along behind him, using Dean’s erratic movement of his flashlight beam to guide him. He was just about to ask Dean if he even knew where they were going, when his brother stopped abruptly and made an ‘aha!’ noise.

He followed the flashlight beam to the gravestone, just about able to make out the engraving “Emily Fortesque, 1853-1874 carved on there, worn almost completely away by the ravages of time and the weather.

Dean slipped his bag off of his shoulder and dropped it to the floor, setting the gas can beside it and offering the light to Sam, preparing to break ground with his shovel. Sam scowled at Dean and refused the flashlight.

“Let me start,” he offered.

“Sure you won’t get tired too quick Sammy?” Dean asked, his voice only just this side of teasing. “After all, it’s been a long time since you had to dig anything up,” he added.

Sam ignored him, setting the salt down and roughly thumping the blade of his shovel into the hard ground.

Dean shrugged and trained the flashlight down onto where Sam was digging, although Sam noticed how close Dean was keeping his arms to his body, and how tightly he was holding himself, as if protecting his ribs a little.

He set a steady pace, losing himself in the rhythm of digging as he worked his way steadily down towards the coffin, tossing the loosened dirt to one side as he worked.

His senses were on high alert, keeping track of Dean and straining to see if he could read anything from the set of his shoulders, the way he held the flashlight, the random comments and teasing that fell from his lips as Sam dug. He was learning to read Dean all over again, too much lost in translation or read just plain wrongly in the past; and too much at stake this time to risk getting it so badly wrong once more.

He was so intent on Dean, that he was surprised when his shovel hit something solid.

“You got it?” Dean asked, shining the beam over the bottom of the grave, just barely able to make out the wood of the coffin lid.

“Almost,” Sam replied, setting about uncovering enough that he could smash through.

He lifted the shovel high to bring enough force to smash the lid, his attention focused on the grave beneath him and so he missed the flickering of the flashlight until it went dead.

“Fuck,” Dean complained, shaking the light once before reaching down and grabbing his shotgun out of the bag.

As he straightened, he saw Emily’s ghost materialize on the other side of the grave, her face twisted in anger.

He brought the gun up, ready to shoot her full of rocksalt, but she moved faster, flying over the open grave and knocking straight into Dean, sending him flying against one of the other gravestones.

Sam fought hard not to panic, fighting his need to get to Dean to make sure he was okay, against his need to finish the job and burn the ghost’s bones.

In the end his need to get rid of Emily so that Dean would be safe from her won out, and he quickly finished smashing the coffin open before climbing out of the grave and reaching for the salt and gasoline.

Emily saw him move and turned from where she was hovering over Dean’s prone form.

Sam groped in the bag for the other shotgun, and just barely managed to get his fingers on it before she attacked, sending him flying away from the grave.

He hit the ground hard, just barely missing another headstone, and felt the jar in his bones. He rolled, trying to climb to his feet, bringing the shotgun that he’d just barely managed to cling to, around to bear. The ghost had gone back to Dean, drawn by whatever had attracted her to him back on the bridge.

Sam aimed and fired quickly, watching her disappear with a scream of primal rage.

He forced himself upright, glancing at Dean and worried that he didn’t seem to be moving. It took a supreme effort to stop his feet from carrying him over to his fallen brother, but he knew that he had only stopped Emily temporarily, and that she would be back soon enough. He had to deal with her first, before he could take care of Dean.

He scrambled back to the open grave, grabbing up the salt and twisting the top off and letting it drop to the ground, tipping up the container and covering the exposed bones in the white crystals.

When it was empty he carelessly threw the container off to the side, grabbing for the gas can. Twisting the top off of that as well, he started to pour the liquid into the grave when Emily reappeared once more.

Sam dropped the container to the ground and reached for the shotgun at his feet, but didn’t have time before Emily was on him, sending him flying once more. He let out a yell as he felt his back and shoulder hit the edge of a gravestone, his vision graying as his shoulder popped out of its socket.

Emily followed him over, hovering above him with malice in her dark eyes. She reached out to touch Sam, and he felt the burning ice cold of her hands on his chest.

Only able to use one hand, and vision still swimming from the pain, Sam tried to push her off of him, every movement sending more pain through his body. It felt like she was trying to claw him open, her icy hands burning against his skin.

She lifted his upper body from the ground, shaking him like a ragdoll and knocking him against the gravestone once more, and he felt bile rising in his throat as he fought to hold onto consciousness.

All of a sudden, Emily screamed, her voice shattering the darkness and making Sam’s head spin, so close to his sensitive ears, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block her out, to concentrate, to gather his strength enough to try and push her away once more when there was a flash of brightness, orange like fire burning through his closed eyelids and imprinting itself on his corneas, and then the hands on his chest were gone, and he fell back against the tombstone.

Blinking, Sam was able to just make out the flames curling up from the open grave, his brother on his knees beside it, before Sam finally lost his fight to stay awake, slumping heavily against the cold stone.

***

The climb back to consciousness was slow, like clawing his way out of the deepest darkness.

It took what felt like a tremendous effort just to get his eyelids to open, and even then that only lasted for seconds before they slipped shut once more. Gathering his strength, Sam tried again, able to make out blurry shapes in the dim light, and feel the scratchy blankets beneath his hand.

He groaned and tried to roll on his side, wincing as pain immediately shot through his entire body, centered on his shoulder and back. Suddenly he felt gentle hands easing him back to laying flat on the bed, a soft voice soothing him.

“Dean,” Sam spoke, his voice sounding broken.

“I’m here Sammy, s’okay,” he promised.

Sam reached out blindly with his good arm, fingers finding soft flannel covering hard muscle and he gripped tight, grounding himself with his brother’s presence.

“Dean,” he repeated, softer this time, letting his breath out in a rush.

He felt Dean’s hand on the warm skin of his neck and he blinked wearily, trying to focus on Dean.

“You with me Sam?” Dean asked softly, squeezing his neck a little, massaging the taut muscles.

Sam finally managed to keep his eyes open long enough to look at Dean, taking in the worried look on his face.

“Yeah Dean,” Sam assured him. “I’m with ya.”

“Good to know,” Dean replied, aiming for nonchalant and failing miserably. He let go of Sam’s neck and patted his chest carefully before shifting to stand up.

Sam’s hand tightened in the fabric of Dean’s shirt and he stopped him moving, keeping him close.

Dean sighed before settling back down with a wince, letting Sam keep him there.

Sam blinked at him, recognizing the pained sound of Dean’s breathing.

“Y’okay?” he asked

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean replied, the tone of his voice warning Sam to back off.

“No you’re not,” Sam replied, ignoring the warning. “Your ribs okay?” he asked.

“They’re fine, Sam,” he replied, his voice tight.

Sam started to sit up again, and fell back onto the bed with a groan, Dean’s hand moving quickly to try and stop him from hurting himself. This time, Sam caught the wince before Dean could hide it.

“Dean!” Sam called, worriedly.

“Shut up Sam,” Dean muttered, straightening back up on the bed, one arm wrapped around his ribs.

“Fucking hell Dean, you want me to take a look?” he offered.

Dean shook his head. “Fat lot of help that’ll be Sammy,” he muttered. “Not like you can wrap them again with your shoulder like that,” he gestured to Sam’s bad arm, wrapped close to his body by a sling.

Sam swore and tried to move his arm, wincing as the pain flared once more.

“Fuck!” he swore, falling still.

“See,” Dean replied. “I’ll be fine,” he added. “Nothin’s broken, just aches like a sonofabitch.”

“Here,” Sam spoke, shifting over on the bed. “Lay down,” he urged. “It’ll put less pressure on your ribs,” he added.

Plus it had the added bonus that he could make sure Dean wasn’t hurt more than he was letting on with him lying right next to him.

Dean sighed the sigh of the heavily-put-upon older brother and swung his legs up on the bed with a grimace, before sliding down the bed until his head was on the pillow. He turned his head and looked at Sam.

“Happy?” he asked, impatience in his voice.

“Ecstatic,” Sam deadpanned. It lost its effect somewhat however, when he followed it up with a wide yawn.

“Dude,” Dean muttered. “You can’t possibly be tired,” he stated. “Your lazy ass has been asleep for hours!”

“I was unconscious Dean, that’s hardly resting,” he pointed out. “And I’m not the only one with a probable concussion either,” he added. “How hard did you hit that gravestone anyhow?” he asked.

Dean winced and rubbed at his shoulder. “Hard enough,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t out for as long as you.” He turned his head and mock-glared at Sam. “You’ve always gotta one-up me, dontcha?”

Sam snorted, wincing as the action made the pain flare up once again.

"It's not funny Dean," Sam frowned.

"It kinda is," Dean argued. "Bet you wish you'd stayed away now, huh?" he added glibly, attempting to hide just how badly he wanted to know Sam’s answer.

Sam turned and looked at Dean, who was looking at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

"Actually, no," Sam replied. "I'm not."

It was Dean's turn to look at Sam, Who met his gaze calmly.

"That's one thing that I'll _never regret,_ " he swore.


	12. Part Eleven

They stayed for another couple of days to give their injuries time to heal. They had both traveled with worse injuries before, but without another job to head for immediately, Sam had been able to convince Dean to stay, mainly by exaggerating how bad his own injuries were.

He kept an eye on Dean, not letting him do too much, despite his protests that he was fine. Sam didn't miss the winces, or the way his brow was furrowed with pain every time he moved. But still Dean was ignoring it, pretending that he couldn't see the way that Sam was watching him. Instead he went about things as if Sam wasn't even there, hiding things from him and making up pointless excuses for everything he was doing. All the same, he knew that Sam wasn't fooled for a moment.

It didn't stop him though; he couldn't let Sam in again, at least not all the way. He fought down the little spark inside him that told him to let Sam in. He couldn't start looking to Sam for help and assistance, couldn't let him start taking over and making sure that Dean was okay. He couldn't, because Sam wasn't going to stay for long, only long enough for his conscience to settle, until he could convince himself that he could go back to his own life with no guilt attached. 

Eventually, Sam was unable to convince Dean to stay put any longer, and they packed up to leave. Sam didn't ask where they were going, and Dean didn't offer to tell him either. Somehow, Sam wasn't surprised when Dean pointed the Impala west.

"You find us another job?" he asked finally, carefully not looking at Dean.

The car slowed suddenly as if Dean's foot had slipped off of the gas for a moment before he recovered. "Us?" he finally asked; his voice tight and controlled.

Sam shrugged, trying at appear nonchalant. "Yeah," he replied.

Dean slowed the Impala to a halt, steering her onto the hard shoulder, before turning and looking at Sam, fighting down the emotions that were fighting to break free. This was it; this was when Sam could break him.

Sam turned in his own seat and looked at Dean, keeping his face carefully under control. "What?" he asked.

"You want to know if we're heading to another job?" Dean asked.

"Uh huh," Sam replied. "What's wrong with that?" he asked, playing innocent.

Dean swore and slapped at the steering wheel before getting out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him and stalking off down the road, unable to stay there and listen to whatever Sam had to say.

Sam sat stunned for a moment before climbing out and following him.

"Dean!" he called, rushing to catch his brother up, wincing at the pain that came from jarring his shoulder.

Dean stopped and turned back towards Sam, revealing the struggle going on through his face.

Sam slowed as he got closer, treating his brother like a scared animal, not wanting to spook him. He stopped a few feet away, his good arm bracing the injured arm in its sling. Dean looked at Sam's arm, frowning as he took it in.

"Dean?" Sam asked again, softer this time.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, Sammy,” Dean whispered, so softly that it barely carried to Sam, even though they were so close together.

"Do what?" Sam prompted.

"Anything," came Dean's quiet reply. "I don't know what I'm doing with anything anymore," he admitted, finally meeting Sam’s eyes.

Sam's heart broke once more at the pain and loss on Dean's face. He thought that by coming back, by saving Dean, hunting with him and helping him get stronger, that Dean would be able to see that things had changed, would be able to tell that Sam was serious about staying with him this time. But time and experience had pushed Dean to the breaking point, and Sam didn’t know if he was enough to pull Dean back.

“You don’t have to do it alone now Dean,” Sam promised. “I’ll be here for you, we’ll work it out together, you’ll see,” he swore.

“For how long?” Dean asked softly, his voice flat rather than accusatory, and Sam wasn’t sure which was worse.

“I’m not going to cut you out of my life anymore Dean, I swear it,” Sam promised. “I was a stubborn jackass and we both know it, and so were you. Typical Winchester’s; too bull headed for our own good. But we’re pretty single minded too right? And when we make up our minds to do something we don’t ever stop. And so if we make up our minds not to lose each other again, and we really believe it, it’ll happen, right?”

The look Dean gave him was a mix of disbelief and hope, and Sam wanted to cry. For so long Dean had been there for him, even when he wasn’t physically there with Sam, yet time and again he’d failed to provide the same support to Dean. Sam had to make Dean believe him.

Dean wouldn’t trust his words; it was only his actions that would get the message through to him.

“Come back with me to Stanford,” Sam asked softly. “Not to stay,” he added hurriedly, seeing the cautious hope start to dim in Dean’s eyes. “I need to pack my stuff up, get a few things sorted out,” he finished.

“Pack up?” Dean asked, not quite believing Sam, and fighting to stop the hope in his chest blossom.

“Yeah, I need to give my lease up, pack up my stuff, let my professor know I’m heading out. All that stuff,” he finished.

“But,” Dean began, still not believing what he was hearing. “What about being a lawyer?” he asked.

Sam sighed and looked away. “I’m not going to be a lawyer,” he finally admitted. “Not anymore.”

Dean’s head whipped up in shock. “But that was what you wanted,” he protested.

“That was back then,” Sam admitted. “When you came and got me from Stanford, it was what I _thought_ I wanted. Things changed. _I_ changed,” he added. “When I went back to Stanford, I changed my major,” he paused, looking at Dean, needing him to understand the importance of his next words. “I changed to an American History major, specializing in Myths and Folklore.”

Sam wasn’t sure how he was expecting Dean to react, but he certainly wasn’t expecting him to start laughing.

Dean wrapped his arms around his middle as the laughter aggravated his still tender ribs, something finally breaking loose within him, letting him start to believe.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked, confused.

“You are Sammy,” Dean replied, still laughing. “All those years, all that talk of being normal, of getting away from this life; and then you go to college and _study it!_ ”

Sam laughed a little as well. “I guess it is a little funny,” he admitted. “But Dean,” he added. “That was what I thought I wanted back then,” he admitted. “But by the time I got back to Stanford, I realized that I had been running as far away as I could from our lives, even when I was at Stanford. Law was just one more way to get away from hunting. One more barrier to put up. But when I went back I realized that it wasn’t what I really wanted. I liked doing all the research for hunts. And this gave me a way to turn it into something more.”

Sam grinned at Dean and started back towards the car. “Plus there’s always the fact that it makes an ideal cover story for hunts,” he added.

Dean let out a bark of delighted laughter, following Sam back to the car.

“C’mon then Sammy,” he grinned, clapping him on the back. “We’re burning daylight, and we’re headed for Cal-i-forn-i-a.”

Sam laughed and got into the car, grabbing the dash as Dean pulled back onto the highway in a screech of tires. He knew it wasn’t fixed, he was damn sure they had a long way to go before they worked things out. But now at least he knew they’d be doing it together.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a repost of a fic I originally started writing back in about 2007, and eventually finished and posted on livejournal in 2009. It was, and still is, the longest fic I've ever written, and I'm sorry to say I've not really written a lot in this, or any other fandom, since.
> 
> I'm moving all my fic over to AO3, because I want to have it all in a single place, and re-reading it as I post it, reminds me of what it is about writing that I love so.


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